Shadows and Reflections
by TheManipulator
Summary: Written w ViperChickKaliyla. In the wake of martial law,Secretary Diana Thalyka runs for her life, as the crew of the Lady of Libron II, lock and load,preparing for the worst. Then, they find out about a strange and beautiful planet named Kobol.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Shadows And Reflections

Author: Manipulator and ViperChickKaliyla

Word count: 47,433

Rating: M

Spoilers: "Kobol's Last Gleaming, Pt. 2" up through "Home, Pt. 2"

Disclaimer: BSG is property of NBC/Universal

Notes: This kicks off Season 2, as it affects Krenzik and those he knows on the Civilian side. ViperChickKaliyla weighs in again, as Diana Thalyka joins the crew of the Lady of Libron II for these pivotal days of the early second season. You should read "Krenzik's War" Part 1-8, if you haven't, already. This story also picks up from "Diana's Tale" by ViperChickKaliyla (posted on the Hangar Deck 5, Ragnar Anchorage, and Colonial One). At the outset of this story, Diana manages to convince Tigh to let her off Colonial One, then goes on the run from ship to ship, ending up on the Gideon.

The raptors disengaged from Colonial One, speeding back to the womb of Galactica. We encircled the scanner, toggling channels, hoping that maybe someone didn't communicate on a scrambled one.

Mangan watched the numbers spin by, after hitting "scan" once again. I joined him, Coursen, and Toby, in lighting up a smoke, so there was at least one thing to focus on, other than watching everything we survived for turn into a huge pile of shit.

"Hey," Marty asked the FTL tech. "What's the point of this? I mean, we're wasting our time since they're scrambling."

Adam Mangan looked over, the tube of ash hanging from the cigarette in his mouth, falling in a clump as he spoke.

"Sometimes they forget. You wanna just gawk out the observation deck? You won't get anymore outta that."

With that, Marty slumped in his seat, crossed his bony arms, and watched the readout with the rest of us.

Caff stood, turned to us.

"There's not much we can do here, except make sure we have our own house in order. But I'm gonna go up top, find out if there's any word since they left."

As he turned, the scanner suddenly crackled to life.

"Galactica/Boomer…"

Boomer. Sharon. The adorable raptor pilot who took me to see the Wall, and brought me home after getting stitched up. I remembered the sadness in her eyes, when I looked over to the captured Raider on Galactica's deck, asked her if it was alive.

Boomer continued: "Mission accomplished, repeat, mission accomplished."

Mission? We looked at one another, Marty, Nick and I, as Mangan just stared at the plastic box, brow creased.

"The basestar is history!"

With that, Galactica ordered her to land, but we barely heard it above our own crosstalk.

"What the frak," Nick yelled, rising. Leave it to him to melt down first. "Basestar? What the hell is goin' on--"

Caff raised his hands to quell the din.

"Look, I'm going Up Top right now. Something big is going down, for sure. I want all of you out on the floor. Adam, get down to your hole, get the old girl spun up. Jeffers'll probably give the order anyway--"

The intercom chimed, vindicating Caffrey's status as the big dog.

"All hands commence jump prep. All hands commence jump prep."

All lights were green on the main turbine's control panel. The old girl was ready to roll. I ran the tests one more time as Nick emerged from the port stabilizer battery's hatch, and gave Caffrey the thumbs-up. All we needed was Marty to come down from the Coolant circulator and give his okay.

The status bar crept toward completion, and Marty came down the ladder that ran parallel with the main coolant line, which snaked its way upward.

"Caff," he said, catching his breath upon landing. "All systems are go, but I had to adjust the mix to the port aft stabilizer. It's acting a little twitchy."

Caffrey nodded. "We'll check that out after the next jump." He called over to me. "How's it comin' Krenzik?"

I didn't hear him, I just watched the little dotted line lengthen, my stomach a twisted, empty pit. I just needed to know, if she was okay. I thought about her, and all the others stuck in the middle, on Colonial One. Whatever happened between Adama and Roslin would hurt them--and us--the most. Those people were under the gun every day, trying to keep the fleet running. They were just doing their jobs, without time to ponder intrigue or power moves. Diana was just doing her job. . .

"Krenzik? Hello?"

I looked up at the screen. All systems were go on the main turbine, once again.

"Main turbine, go, Caff."

The hatch above, on the catwalk, opened, and Milt Jeffers, freshly pressed as usual, came down the ladder with his usual crisp efficiency, clipboard under his arm. He called us over to circle around him.

"Based on what we heard, plus some other reports across the fleet, indications show that Galactica has taken the President into custody. All transmissions to and from Colonial One are jammed. Other vessels close by didn't report any indications of muzzle flashes or other signs of gunfire that could be seen from the liner's ports."

Indications, maybes. Too many of those.

"What about what we picked up on the scanner, about the basestar," I asked him.

Jeffers shook his head.

"Galactica is not answering any questions whatsoever. But. . ." He rifled through the papers on the clipboard, paused.

"But, it appears, according to other reports, that before Colonial One was boarded, one of Galactica's pilots, testing their captured Cylon ship, suddenly jumped. Scuttlebutt is that the jump was unauthorized, to points unknown."

Toby shook his head. "Somebody steals a frakkin' Raider, then President gets overthrown. What ARE we gonna do?"

"Any word from Bertrand? What about the Quorum," Ed asked.

Jeffers shook his head. "We haven't gotten any word from Bertrand, but we did contact the Geminese rep. She, and a couple others are trying to get in touch with the rest of the Quorum, too. So far, there's no indication that Galactica will send any ships after the Quorum of Twelve."

I raised my hand. The guys weren't stupid. They knew, especially after Toby's numerous retellings of our trip to Colonial One, that I had a soft spot for Diana, but I had to ask, no matter what they thought.

"What about the President's Cabinet?"

Jeffers' head shook in negation once again. "No one knows, but indications are they were left unharmed, seeing as Roslin appears to have given up without a fight."

Small consolation. Never mind that there was no apparent upside to the vice grip of martial law. The military had their hands full covering our collective asses. How were they supposed to dole out rations, medicine, and insure that ships got repairs beyond the average mechanic's abilities? Forget that was all secondary for me, despite what I knew in my mind. In that hollow knot inside I needed to know that she was at least okay.

Our XO cleared his throat, and continued. "We did receive word from Zenar on the Prometheus. Right now, we're all to sit tight, until we get some real word about what just happened--"

The intercom rang out. It was Moore, this time.

"Cylon incoming! Cylon Incoming! Prepare to jump in T-minus two minutes."

We scrambled, then, for our tool belts, then to our stations. Caff was on the phone to Up Top. No problem. We were spun up, and ready to rock. I was impressed with the flight crew's call for jump prep. Had Boomer not forgotten to send her message over a scrambled channel, we'd be frakked, sitting down here wringing our hands over the unknown. We all knew if the Cylons take a shot in the mouth, they'd come back ready with a boot to our guts. I was overlooking our main turbine's sensor screen, when Briar clomped across the catwalk, as fast as his portly frame could move, then down the ladder.

I looked over to him, but he blew past me, straight to Caffrey.

He paused, face reddened, as his hands came to rest on his knees, out of breath.

"Gal…Galactica isn't making the hard starboard turn. They're just sittin' there! We're screwed! We're--"

Over the intercom, Moore said: "Jump, on my mark. Three, two, one…Mark."

I placed both hands on the console to keep my balance, and fight off the usual sensation of waiting for a stray one percent of me to catch up after the hyperlight jump. One moment of odd inertia later, we were clear.

Before I could breathe a sigh of relief at our latest escape, my ears filled with the hostile keening of the alert klaxon. Red strobes that stayed dark my entire time on the Lady glowed. Fear overtook me, and my heart thundered in my chest. The klaxon only went off in the event of catastrophic failure of the main turbine, the FTL, or the main cooling unit. I forced myself to look at my sensors.

Caff's voice boomed over the alert system's banshee wail.

"Come on! Come on! Talk to me, people!"

I didn't need to see Nick emerge from the port side stabilizer hatch to hear him shout that both thrusters on that side were offline. I could feel the ship slightly, but steadily tilt to the left. I finally pushed the words out of my mouth, after surveying my screens on the engine.

"Turbine…turbine online! Temperature climbing, but still normal--"

Above the catwalk, Marty poked his out the coolant pump hatch, translucent wisps of smoke trailing out behind him.

"Pump motor's frakked Caff!"

The coolant pump's motor had stopped circulating water throughout the system. The port stabilizers overheated first, prompting the brain to take them offline. The temperature was rising in the main turbine, and the FTL, too. If the hyperdrive couldn't cool down, Mangan, and a good portion of aft would blow out into space. Only the bulkheads that separated the FTL from the rest of the ship would save us. Then we would have just enough time to say our prayers before the main turbine blew, and brought about a real sense of closure to our mad dash across the universe--if we didn't take everything offline.

I saw Briar lumbering back up the ladder. I knew where he was going. Within a couple minutes, we would have a new pump motor coming down the freight elevator, carried by a forklift, then straight into the shop. Temperatures, were still climbing in the main turbine, but slowly--still in the green. That wouldn't last much longer.

"Krenzik!" Caff barked, beckoning me over with Ed. "You, me and Coursen are gonna get that thing ready to go. Toby and Nick are gonna help Marty rip out the old one."

Metal clattered to the floor in the shop, as we continued our tilt to port. The temperature spiked into the yellow on the main engine, then. I felt us descending. They probably wouldn't shut down until we were clear of any other vessels. Who knew how long that would take. Caffrey jerked me by the arm.

"Come on!"

Soon, Caff, Ed, and I, were surrounding 700-plus kilos of pump motor. Our foreman and Ed lubricated the shafts that fit into the circulator, while I worked with the mobile test terminal, formatting the new motor's brain. I heard the hydraulic whine of the autolift, as the old one descended to the floor. Briar backed his lift out, to clear the dead hunk to steel, tubes and plastic out of the way, when we were done. The shop phone rang. Caff got the word from Jeffers to take the main turbine offline, along with the starboard stabilizers. Now, we only had to worry about plowing into another ship, instead of exploding.

"Krenzik, how you coming with the CPU," he asked me.

I gave the thumbs up. Systems were apparently go. The Coolant pump would recognize it within a minute of initial startup.

"Good. Go take the main turbine and starboard offline."

I left the shop, and was greeted with the crash of steel against concrete. Toby was operating the autolift, and the dead motor dropped about twenty feet down, in front of Briar's lift forks. I felt a small sense of relief that worrying about a chunk taken out of the floor could be a big deal again. Toby stood, his work shirt stained with grease and coolant, shaking his head.

I slid my ID card in the slot next to the main turbine console. Temperatures were almost in the red as I punched in my code and shut her down. I darted back through the shop, behind the still, to the starboard stabilizer hatch, slid down the ladder, punched in my codes. Again. As the electric hum of the starboard stabilizer units died, the klaxon did too. I sent a silent thank-you to Zeus, Hera, Apollo, the entire Pantheon, for this one. Now, I could get back to worrying about whether Diana was even alive, and think in terms of living for the next day, instead of the next five minutes.

Several Days Later

I was an idiot to talk my way off Colonial One. I had remembered that dispute, with the captain of the Geminon Traveler, a day or two after Galactica had finally rejoined the fleet. And whatever else he was, taking down the President, I had figured, maybe, Commander Adama might be a reasonable man. Because he'd left the rest of us—and the Quorum—in tact, even after he arrested her. A legal fiction on his part, to think one could arrest the President without having it be a military coup. But a legal fiction I had figured I could use in my favor, if he wanted to believe he had left the rest of us with any power. So I'd called up Galactica. But it wasn't Adama who answered, when I finally got past the commtech. It was Tigh--and it was all I could do to keep to my pre-planned request, when he refused to answer my query as to Adama's whereabouts, growling at me with barely contained rage—at what, I wasn't quite sure—that he was "unavailable". But somehow—I still, even now, could barely believe it—I had managed to convince him to let me off Colonial One, for a meeting with the captain of the Geminon ship. Possibly because of the part where I'd told Tigh that if he didn't let me handle it, he'd have to.

But that was all in the past….all in the mistakes of the past. Because I had been aboard that ship for no more than half hour when it had happened.

The captain had been arguing with me in his usual bullheaded manner, when one of his crew had come running through the door without so much as a warning. Gasping for breath, he had told the captain to turn on the wireless channel….in time to hear, through the press, Tigh announce to the fleet as a whole the arrest of the President….and the dissolution of the Quorum of Twelve and declaration of martial law.

However much of an ass he had been to me before, the captain looked horrified, as he turned to look at me, as the broadcast ended.

"Get off this ship. Get off this ship, before that Raptor returns, if you want to live."

Maybe I should have thought things through more clearly. Maybe Tigh wouldn't have killed me. Maybe he would have just taken me back to Colonial One, now one vast prison, or locked me up with the President in the brig on Galactica. But maybe, he would have. All I knew is…I'd heard things, about Saul Tigh. And I knew things, about what often happened when governments were overthrown. I couldn't take that chance…and so I'd heeded the captains' advice. I'd left my folders on the table, in the middle of the room, fighting the instinct that cried out against leaving classified and confidential information in plain sight on someone else's ship. Those files had the Colonial Seal on them. I couldn't take them with me, if I wanted to have any chance of moving undetected throughout the fleet.

I had gone to down to the airlock where the shuttles stopped, then. The captain had said one was docked, at that very moment. Before boarding, I had taken off my jacket, and tied it around my waist, taken off my ID, and slipped it into my shoe, and let my hair down from it's tight updo, to hang haphazardly around my face. Unidentifiable. Ragged. Unprofessional. I wanted to blend in, with the crowd.

When that shuttle had stopped on Cloud Nine, I disembarked…and boarded, as soon as possible, another shuttle. I had repeated that process, after that, again and again, for the Gods only knew how long (though I estimated it to have been several days), never staying on one ship for any longer than it too to catch the next shuttle…and always choosing to board the shuttles so underbooked they might allow one to slip aboard without showing ID. But now, I knew, sitting here in the mess hall aboard a ship whose name I couldn't even remember, I had to face the truth. Because all those days I had jumped shuttles, one after another, I had had no food (it could, on most ships, only be gotten by matching one's ID against a registered passenger list), barely any water, and absolutely no sleep. And now, head in my hands, laid atop a table as those around me ate, I had nothing left. I could go no further.

"Madame Secretary."

Despite all my thoughts of having nothing left, my head jerked up at that, and I tried to stand, to get away. Recognized. I had been recognized! I had to get out of here!

But as I drew away, stumbling over my own feet in an effort to run, a hand caught my shoulder, and pulled me around to face its' owner.

"Wait!"

He was a young man, somewhere, I would guess, between 20 and 30, and was wearing cheap chef's whites.

"I'm not gonna turn you in! No one here is gonna turn you in!"

They weren't?

"But, Colonel Tigh—"

"Listen, there's a whole godsdamn lotta the fleet out there that don't agree with what Saul Tigh did. Including, near as I can figure, just about this whole damn ship. You look like hell, ma'am. Come with me. You're safe on this ship…ain't nobody here gonna turn anybody over to Tigh."

I could barely believe it—the paranoia in my mind, so common in situations like this—screamed at me not to trust him. But it didn't matter what Saul Tigh did, or William Adama, or even Laura Roslin. It didn't matter that they couldn't trust each other, or that I couldn't trust Galactica now. These were my people…and if I couldn't trust one of them, when he said he spoke the truth…then I was no better than Tigh.

"How did you—How did you know who I was?"

"I saw you when you were aboard a few weeks ago. Saw you speaking to the captain, here, while I was cooking. And not many people get shadowed by armed goons in suits and ties, so I figured—"

He shrugged, and reached out a hand.

"I'm Pete Simmons, I work in the kitchen here. You stick with me, and everyone else, aboard the Gideon. We'll keep you safe."


	2. Chapter 2

The new pump motor worked, and, fittingly, Caff called us all around the still. We pounded down our shots, but I didn't quite keep up with the guarded happiness shared by the others.

"Good job, everybody," Caff said. "We haven't had an alert in about eight years on the Lady, but all of you remembered what to do, and in good time."

He went on, but my thoughts turned inward. Caring about someone I considered a friend, like Diana, didn't bother me. Just knowing I had a friend, outside of the deteriorating professional cohesion on the Lady made me feel as if I wasn't trapped in a giant aquarium. Now, though, I had to face the fact that I cared for her, that what I felt, in my gut, was more than just a reaction to being on this tub with a bunch of guys and a butch navigator. My world was a little better because she was alive, and in a world that may not have a tomorrow, that scared me. I poured myself another hit of our house brew, and let it burn down my throat, settle in a little hot corner of my stomach, as Jeffers barreled through the shop. His every stride screamed urgency and authority.

"Alright, " he began, with a sideways glare toward Toby. "Floor damage aside, everything is back in order. One problem, though."

At this point, we didn't even react, as a whole. Bad news was evidently the order of the day.

Jeffers cleared his throat and continued. "Galactica has not joined us yet."

Marty leaned toward our XO, eyes wide.

"Whaddya mean 'not joined us yet,' Mr. Jeffers?"

He sighed and responded: "They're not here, Samuels. They didn't jump in with us, yet. And we don't know why."

So much for brooding and introspection. It was back to the grind of reaching the next hour alive. If Cylons showed up, we were done in under five minutes. Heavy silence permeated the group, as Jeffers turned and crisply returned the way he came.

"Alright, people. We can't do anything about our missing big guns," Caff said. "But we can get on the stick and check the secondary lines and thrusters for any damage from the pump motor failure. Besides, I'm sure we'll be getting calls from other ships needing help. So you know what to do. Get to it."

We scattered to our new tasks and, for the first time since we initially jumped beyond the Red Line, I felt as if we were just putting off a quick death.

The battlestar Galactica did return, a couple hours later, but we were greeted only with more silence, and no information. Colonial One was still jammed from the rest of the fleet, but she still flew in formation, next to our protector, which loomed over us now like an oppressive behemoth instead of our valiant shield. Civilian shuttles slowly resumed traffic, and we finally got a message, through Zenar and the Prometheus, that Bertrand was indeed safe and sound. Other information, via wireless, wasn't so good.

Shortly before the basestar forced our hasty retreat, one of Adama's raptor pilots shot him point blank in the chest three times. He was now in critical, but stable condition, and Colonel Saul Tigh was running the show. I barely knew who Tigh was, beyond meeting him in Galactica's infirmary after getting jumped on the Mazingo. His high-strung demeanor and loose-cannon rhetoric did little to ease my mind about the future. The only good bit of news was that absolutely no one was harmed aboard Colonial One. Roslin was in the brig, but her cabinet was left aboard the President's ship. I doubted Diana was having an easy time, but at least she was still alive. I had hoped that she was on assignment, among the fleet when the coup went down. That was doubtful, though. All indications showed that Roslin's entire cabinet stood with their President.

We shuttled out, passing the time helping other ships whose engines and hyperdrives didn't handle the sudden jump well. We patched lines, swapped brains, and did what we could to buy them time, until Galactica's silence broke, and ships could book time on the space tug. Everyone was edgier, and a little too happy to see us come aboard. Galactica was like having a big, mean dog that you couldn't touch, but had on a chain at your front door to keep out intruders.

I heard the news that the Quorum of Twelve was dissolved, by Tigh as I patched up secondary lines on a supply ship out of Tauron. I felt a little better that we had armed ourselves on the Lady. Anger simmered in me, in the people I saw every day, as I worked. Upon returning home, we all shared late night stories and rumors, how we were under an oppressive thumb of a drunk, who got his job only because the Commander who fought for his life was the Colonel's best friend. People began sit-down strikes, including, we found out, our tylium refinery ship, the Gideon.

Caffrey was doing a booze run, there, in exchange for an old secondary thruster unit that we could use for parts. Mangan told us that all outgoing shuttles were cancelled per Stengler's orders. All of us were back, and we just had to wait on Caff. He needed to find a shuttle fast. I literally shivered when word came that Tigh was sending marines to the Gideon, to take what they refused to give.

Mangan's face was a blank, as he lit up a cigarette. "Alright," he began, evenly. "Jimmy should be able to catch a shuttle out within the next half-hour or so. If he don't get back here, he knows to get word. When he gets back we'll figure out what we're gonna do if Tigh sends his jarheads knockin' here."

"How likely is that," Toby asked him.

Our FTL tech responded with a shrug. "I dunno. We don't supply Galactica with anything, so if he has to scramble for supplies, we'll be pretty far down the list." He turned to leave, his body tightening slightly as he dragged off his smoke. I knew he hated public speaking, and was only Caff's second because our foreman was his good friend. He could have been a boss a few years ago, but preferred the solitude of running the FTL, instead. Of all, he wanted to see Caff back soon the most.

"Well," I said. "Adama didn't kill anyone on Colonial One. That probably means Tigh won't either."

I remembered what Caff told me, the night of the coup, about Adama being a soldier, not a mass murderer. He acted swiftly, but methodically. Saul Tigh, based on my limited view of him, was an apparent loose cannon, but wore the same uniform. I just hoped I was right.

Mangan stared at me, hard. "Adama's laying in a hospital bed. This is Tigh's show. Just remember," he continued, without looking back as he left. "Receive any shuttle that CiC permits hard seal with your sidearm."

Another hour ticked by, there was no word from anyone, until Mitchell made a very rare appearance Down Below. He slid down the ladder, and found me working the still. Before I could tell him to let Mangan know, per the chain of command, his urgency cut me off.

"Just got news, Krenzik. Shots were fired on the Gideon. And…there were some deaths."

I felt the blood drain from my face, and, seemingly from my whole body. He did it. The old drunk sonofabitch really did it. What we would not give, he would take. I turned to leave, run down and tell everyone, but Mitchell caught my arm.

"What? What else, Mr. Mitchell?"

"B-before this. . . We were originally supposed to meet this morning with Tigh--the Captains of the fleet, I mean. Then he cancelled. And now this."

He was a thin, spare man, but then he looked totally frail, pallid. He clutched onto my arm, still--a little too hard.

The intercom chimed. "Shuttle docked, aft airlock," Jeffers said.

"Look, Mr. Mitchell," I said, gently prying his fingers away from my bicep. "You heard that, right?"

He nodded.

"That's Caffrey, now. We'll find out what happened, and the Captain will get us going from there, right?"

"Y-yeah."

"Okay. You go ahead," I told him, my voice cracking a little, as if his feeling of terror seeped through his fingers, into me. "I'll tell everybody else, alright?"

"Okay," he said, and hastily returned up the ladder. I stopped by my bunk, strapped on my shoulder holster for the first time, made sure I had a full clip, and headed for the cargo hold and the airlock--armed--per Mangan's orders.

I decided to save a little time, and head up the freight elevator, but it was already descending. Good. Caff was on the job. He probably had a good plan already, and information straight from the source about what happened. When he got us together, we could get the job done, whatever it was. The door slid open, but it wasn't my boss.

Standing next to Mike Briar, her blond hair in a messy bun, she looked at me blankly, her gray eyes sunk into her skull, behind dark circles and hard lines. Her mouth hung open slightly, and her suit was rumpled, as if she had worn it nonstop for days. She teetered a little, and Mike helped steady her. I didn't think. I just took her hand, which felt dry and cold, and helped her out of the elevator.

"Diana," I asked her. "What happened?"

One Hour Ago

I wonder if it was like this, at the spaceports on Caprica, and all the other Colonies, when the attacks began. Everywhere around me, people are 12 deep, shoving ,clawing, elbowing, shouting and crying, desperate and frantic. There are men and women holding their children high above their heads, screaming for someone to take their child aboard, if not themselves. But one by one, the shuttles have been lifting off. And now that it is down to the last one….the throng is pushing up against it still. Several large, burly looking ticketed passengers—perhaps one of them the shuttle pilot—have placed themselves at the entrance to the shuttle, and the pilot is holding a old-looking civilian pistol. They're checking ID at the entrance to the shuttle—only those on the list are allowed to enter.

"Go!"

With his hands firmly on my shoulders, Pete has been shoving me, the entire way, all the way from his quarters, where he had offered me shelter only hours before.

….I had thought I was safe here. I had thought I was finally done, on the run, that I had found sanctuary from the storm that had begun when the President and the Commander had locked horns across the void. I guess I was wrong.

"They're not going to let me on—"

"I'll make them let you on! We've got to get you off this ship!"

My planned reply was cut off abruptly as an elbow slammed into my side. I staggered, pushed into Pete, who somehow managed to keep his balance (probably by bumping into the guy on the other side of him, as well). I struggled to regain my balance, with Pete's hand on my shoulder still, when I felt another hand briefly on my other shoulder.

"Miss...Miss Thalyka? What the hell are you doing here?"

I could have asked him the same—Of all the people I had expected to see here, James Caffrey was one of the last. Physically, he looked the same as he had when I had last seen him, shaking hands with the President the day he and his men had come aboard to fix the engines. But the expression on his face was that of someone who was both shocked and appalled, and his eyes were different as well…haunted and somewhat dulled….but even more strangely, appearing to come alive with light as he laid them upon me, in the same way they brightened when the President had grasped his hand, aboard Colonial One.

"I—They—I was off Colonial One, when Colonel Tigh dissolved the Quorum, and—"

My voice just cut off, after that…it was all too much to take in, and to spit back out again…all too much to process, and the crowds around us continued to shove and scream.

"Sorry about bumping you, Miss Thalyka, I'm trying to get to my shuttle. Where's yours?"

Before I could speak, Pete had already blurted out an answer.

"She doesn't have one."

"What? What do you mean she doesn't have one?"

"When I found her here, she said she'd been jumping shuttles through the fleet without booking passage on them, ever since Tigh dissolved the Quorum. And most of us here, on the Gideon, we don't agree with what Tigh and Adama did—so I told her to stay here. I thought she'd be safe here. I guess we were idiots—We didn't think he'd come after us so soon for a couple a lousy cups of coffee. We got a right to refuse to resupply a tyrant. We got a right to stand up for ourselves."

Caffrey shook his head.

"This is crazy. Too crazy for her to be here!" Then, he looked to me, putting a meaty hand on my shoulder. "We have got to get you outta here. You're public enemy number one to them."

Me? Public enemy number one? He was right about one thing: This WAS crazy.

"I don't think—I mean—there are no spaces left on the shuttles. And I can't show my ID!"

Hell, I couldn't even let it be seen at all now, let alone try to use it to book passage on a shuttle—even now, it was sharp against the sole of my left foot, where I had stuffed it in the bottom of my shoe, days before.

Caffrey craned his thick neck above the crowd, brow furrowed in deep concentration, then his eyes lit up with a quiet resolve.

"Come with me, both of you. My shuttle's just down here."

He gently, but firmly, took me by the arm, forcing the sea of terrified men, women, and children to part before him, as Pete pushed us forward, from behind. He finally stopped at a docked shuttle, with almost no room inside--even to stand. As I watched, the pilot with the weapon and the two burly passengers shook their heads, and pushed away a woman with tears running down her face, her hands in a knot, pleading with them to let her on—at one point attempting to shove a handful of money, jewelry, and what looked like a bottle of booze into their hands as a bribe. No use—They didn't budge.

Who was he kidding? Could he honestly think that somehow, they would let me on? They weren't letting anyone on, who wasn't pre-booked before all this chaos had begun.

He smiled, a little sadly at me, then turned to the pilot at the door.

"Hey Frankie--"

"No more room, Caffrey. Get on so we can get the hell outta here before the Jarheads show up."

James Caffrey waved a dismissive hand, and replied: "She's taking my seat."

The pilot, Frankie, didn't even have time to open his mouth more than halfway, let alone get a response out.

"I most certainly am NOT."

The mechanic shook his head emphatically.

"You have to. There's no telling what they'll do to you if they find you here, after you were on the run."

"Come on Caffrey, I don't wanna leave with an empty seat," Frankie shouted. "Coming or going?"

"She's coming Frankie, just one second."

"No, Mr. Caffrey! I won't take your seat I--"

"They aren't lookin' for me. They're definitely looking for you. Frankie will take you back to my ship, the Lady. You'll be safe there."

"Godsdammit, I can't take your seat! It doesn't matter if they aren't looking for you! Don't you see They're going to storm this ship with marines? And Tigh is going to take what he wants, one way or another—No matter what he has to do to get it, or who he has to go through! You have a seat on that shuttle. You have a seat off this ship--"

"Well," Caffrey replied, since you feel that way…" he trailed off, looked at Pete. And then, I felt their grip tighten on my arms.

Instinctively, I tried to wrench my arms away from them, but unfortunately, both of them were larger and stronger, and also, at the moment, much healthier.

"What are you DOING—"

Neither of them paid any attention to me, instead, they pinned my arms behind my back, practically lifting me off the deck, and shoved me head first onto the shuttle, so hard that I smashed into—and past—several people already inside, ending up in the middle, nearly on my rear end. The pilot, Frankie, barely got out of the way in time. I scrambled back to me feet as well as I could with so many people surrounding me, and tried to claw my way to the front…But Frankie, with a nod at Caffrey, was already, to my horror, closing the hatch. I shoved even harder against the other passengers, but to no avail—the shuttle was packed so tight that one could barely move an inch, let alone ten feet, and the hatch slammed shut before I was even halfway there.


	3. Chapter 3

Diana sat in our breakroom, still, quiet. I had taken her by the arm, and she let me guide her right to that seat, looking up at me as if all the mental energy she could spare was encompassed with other things. Horrible things. Marines were storming the Gideon, and I hoped Caffrey would be back soon, and then we could plot the next step.

Mangan told me to sit her down, while he sent Toby up for the nurse. Luckily, I didn't have to worry about rubberneckers, or watching her crumple even further under a barrage of questions.

"You know her," he told me. "Find out what the frak happened." With that, he barked his orders out to everyone else, and ran up the ladder to tell the flight crew about our new guest.

She stared at the table's smooth formica surface, which was as blank as the look in her eyes. I grabbed my 32-ounce plastic tumbler, perhaps the last from the Highchurch port EZMart in existence, and filled it with water. Gently sliding a chair close, I sat next to the Secretary, my friend, and placed the cup before her.

She looked up at me. The fire in her eyes, when she grabbed me by the shoulders on Cloud Nine, standing over that manufactured stream, was gone. In its place was a sterility, like that of the fake moon that had bathed us in its light. She had feared her eyes would become as cold and dead as a Cylon's. Cold, they were. But I saw the primal fear of someone who was helpless to stop horror that she had seen.

Her trembling hand wrapped around the plastic cup as she brought it to her lips, and she swallowed in huge gulps. Water dribbled around the corners of her mouth, onto the table, her jacket. Diana put the nearly empty cup down, eyes finding the tabletop. I didn't realize how dirty she was until I saw the water cut through the grime on her face, as it dripped unattended from her chin.

Fast answers weren't going to come, no matter I badly I wanted them. The new clean spots around her mouth highlighted the grime at the cuffs of her suit jacket, the jagged holes in her stockings, and the dingy gray streaks on her blouse. Diana looked up to me, jaw slack, then grabbed the cup once again, finishing off the rest of the water, getting most of it in her mouth.

"Diana," I asked her. "Did-did you see Caffrey--Jim Caffrey on the Gideon? He was supp--"

"Yes."

I waited for more to come, behind her abrupt reply, but she just sat, letting the water drip from her mouth. I refilled her cup, then wet a paper towel.

"You want to clean your face?"

Her brow furrowed, staring at the soaked towel, then at me, as if she didn't understand. I slid my chair a little closer, told her to look at me, and she did.

I tilted her chin up, surprised that she just let me, and started wiping under her eyes, around her cheeks. Grime lifted, making her look even more sickly in the harsh overhead lights.

"Now, where did you see Caffrey? Was he okay?"

"Airlock. He…"

She turned her head away, chugged more from the cup. This time it sloshed over her knuckles as a trembling hand laid the cup down.

I took both her hands in mine, and she let me. Her head was bowed, as if she was ashamed. I took the wet paper towel and wiped her forehead, around her temples.

"What did he do, Diana?"

Her lips barely moved this time. She just stared at both of her hands, which sat limp in my fingers.

"He gave me. . . his seat."

I tilted her chin up, making her eyes meet mine. Was he okay? Was he still alive? I forced myself to stay the course.

Marines cutting through a ship's hull wouldn't facilitate more incoming shuttles until they left. But I couldn't see Caff not having a plan "B."

"His seat? Did he catch another shuttle? Did he say--"

"There is no other shuttle!"

Her dirt-smeared features sprang to a terrible life, and all the fear behind her cold gray eyes gushed forth, as she clutched my shirt, pulled me so close our noses bumped for an instant.

"Okay…okay…Diana--"

"He gave me the last seat! He saw me and threw me on the frakking ship! I had no godsdamned choice!"

She still held my shirt, white-knuckled, as her face fell and she shook her head.

"I h-had no choice. I didn't want to let him do it. I didn't want to let him."

My jaw worked, but nothing came out. I sorted my jumbled thoughts, unable to tear my gaze away from hers. I gently pried her fingers off me, held them above her lap.

"I'm. . . I'm sorry, Jay. I'm so sorry--"

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. Look, he can take care of himself. When he gets back, we'll figure out what's happening next."

Mangan and Toby returned with Joe Pinklon, our nurse, who carried his medical bag. Trailing behind was Milt Jeffers, who, as always, was compelled to take over the situation.

"Krenzik, get up and let Pinklon take a look at her." Then he nodded toward Diana, who just gaped at him. "Miss Thalyka, by order of Captain Stengler, you are under the protection of the Lady of Libron II and her crew as long as you see fit. Fill us in after the nurse looks you over."

Diana looked over to me, mouth open, shaking her head. I slid out of the chair and Pinklon sat down, unzipped his bag, and revealed a thermometer.

"Okay Miss," he said. "Stick this under your tongue."

CiC stood for Command Information Center on New Castle freighters like the Lady. It was really just a convenient euphemism for "cramped in cockpit." The closeness felt more oppressive now, surrounded by Captain Stengler, Jeffers, and Mangan--all eyes on me.

"All she told me was that Caff gave her his seat on the last ride out. After that, it's what we knew already."

Stengler shook his head. "This is crazy." He looked over to our comm officer, seated at his console, listening intently to his headset. "Any further word yet from the Gideon, Mr. Mitchell?"

He simply shook his head in return, and resumed his vigil over the chatter.

Stengler cleared his throat.

"The moment Mangan brought this… situation to our attention, I decided that we will not throw the Secretary to the wolves. But we need more information, obviously. We're stuck in limbo until morning, at least."

Limbo was how long Diana had to stay on an IV drip, lying in our infirmary, which was just another convenient euphemism for Room With Bed and Pills. Pinklon finally kicked me out, after he told Diana to change into a hospital gown. She was dehydrated, and apparently hadn't slept for days. I could see Caff looking into her dirty face, shoving through the hatch over her adamant protests. He wouldn't leave her to Tigh's goon squad. Never. Would he be able to hide out? Would he want to?

Mangan interjected: "When are we gettin' word about what happened?"

"We have Mitchell on the horn, already. Other than that, there's not much we can do. No word from Bertrand, nothing yet from the Prometheus, either," Jeffers said. He took a deep breath. "Besides, we need to know what set this all off. She's the only one that can tell us."

There it was, the only reason I was in on this cockpit meeting.

"You're going in there, and you're going to get as much information out of her as you can," Stengler said. His glare, his newly found seriousness made my throat go dry. "Don't press too hard. It's not an interrogation. You have a rapport with her, though, and you can use that to get her talking. More than anyone else here could, at any rate."

I looked over to Mangan, who just silently met my eyes, all business.

Jeffers leaned over, poked my chest. "And if Pinklon gives you any shit, you just tell him this came from the Captain."

I must have done a poor job of hiding my concern, the impending pressure that made this cramped space all the smaller. Stengler gave me a forced, kindly smile.

"Just a few minutes, Krenzik. We just want a little more information before she's on her feet, in the morning."

She was on her feet, apparently, for almost a week already. What did they expect? I thought about wiping the dirt from her face, seeing the hard lines and the darkness that encircled her eyes. I just wanted to wait, but it was laid out for me to get the job done. I felt as if Stengler wanted me to repair a vid monitor with only a hammer and duct tape.

"I'll do my best Cap'n."

Stengler patted me on the shoulder as Jeffers spun the wheel on the hatch.

"Good man! Come back in about half an hour and give us a report."

Pinklon was a soft-spoken, mild individual, with his red hair pulled back in a ponytail. He went against his usual personality traits as soon as I opened my mouth.

"No way in hell, Jay. That's my patient and she needs rest. She's dehydrated, exhausted and--"

"And you can go tell that to Stengler," I hissed. "I just need a few minutes. I don't want to upset her any more than you do."

He threw his hands up, and sat on the exam table behind him.

"Fine. Good luck waking her up, though. She's probably asleep, by now."

I parted the antiseptic green curtain surrounding the Lady's only hospital bed.

Diana lay facing me, on her left side, huddled underneath the covers. Only her face, and left arm, with the IV's needle going into her wrist, protruded from the little ball she was in. I squatted next to her, and paused. Every bit of me wanted to be anywhere but here, to just walk out, and let her gain some measure of fitful rest. But I had a job to do.

My fingers gently brushed a lock of hair out of Diana's face, revealing features that held a sense of peace that no one could find any longer, except in sleep. I smiled a little. At least some color was coming back into her cheeks.

"Diana?"

Nothing. I touched her shoulder, gently shook. She moaned, stirred, then was still again.

I shook harder this time, wincing, as if she would crumble like old paper.

"What is it now," she murmured, before her eyelids peeled open. She squinted looking at me, then saw her pillow, the lights, and the tube coming out of her arm. The weight that left Diana in sleep returned with her memory.

"Did-did you find out if Caffrey is okay?"

I shook my head, and couldn't help but smile a little. Her first thoughts were of others, even on the brink of exhaustion, on the run from a madman.

"No word, yet. I don't want to bother you any more than I have to Diana, okay? But we need to know how you ended up on the Gideon, and why."

She sighed, turned onto her back, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes with her free hand.

"The government was still around, sort of, after the they took the President away..." She rose on one elbow, blinked, then let her head sink back into the pillow.

"I told Tigh I needed to meet with a captain to mediate a dispute with another ship, or he would have to deal with it himself. I was off Colonial One when he declared martial law."

She swallowed hard, looked over to me. " I...just ran, then. I just boarded a shuttle to anywhere, and another, and another, and another. I don't even know for how many days. By the time I reached the Gideon...I just couldn't go any further."

I leaned in, and didn't try to fill the silence. After all, saying "Okay! That's great, but…" wasn't a good transition, not after hearing that. Tigh was ready to kill over tylium. What would he do if he found out his runaway prisoner was here?

"Okay, Diana, but I need to know what happened before. Why did Adama storm Colonial One?"

She just looked at me, shook her head.

"Because she broke their agreement."

I was afraid she would wall herself off, but not so soon. She pursed her lips, drew her right hand against her chest and turned on her side again, toward me.

"I feel tired, Jay, I need to sleep," the softness of her words didn't match the hard glare in her eyes.

"I have to know. We have to know, okay? What agreement? All we know is that after their Raider jumped away, marines boarded your ship, overthrew the government. Then a raptor jumps in, and says they destroyed a basestar, nearby. What's going on?"

She unsteadily sat up, leaning forward. Her eyes narrowed, gaining a little of the spark that was missing since she arrived, emaciated at our airlock.

"They had an agreement. Military decisions to him, everything else to her. But she asked one of the pilots to take the Raider, take it to Caprica...to retrieve the Arrow of Apollo, after he had refused to let her use it."

I saw the Arrow of Apollo, once, on a high school field trip to Caprica. It sat on a white porcelain hand, in a glass case at the Museum of the Colonies. Scripture said it could show the way to Earth. It was one of our oldest known artifacts. Was the President losing it? Why was it so important to go back to Caprica for that?

"The arrow? But--"

Diana cut me off. There was no trace of weakness in her voice, then, as if she had dropped by on another diplomatic visit.

"When she did he called her. They argued and he told her he was 'terminating her Presidency'! As if that's even legal! They argued more. And then he started jamming us, and--"

"Okay, but why would she--"

"And he sent armed marines to board the ship! Weapons out!"

Joe parted the curtain.

"Jay, come on. I know the Captain has his orders but we have a sick woman here--"

Diana just kept going and pushed herself up to a seated position, the sheet and blanket piling around her waist.

"She thinks it will lead us to Earth, if she takes it to the Tomb of Athena on Kobol--"

"Kobol?" The word burst forth so loud it echoed in the room. Pinklon just stood in tight-lipped silence, hanging on her next words.

"Like," I continued. "In the Scrolls? As in 'Life here began out there?'"

She slumped onto her back, turned her head away.

"Yeah, like that."

My face grew hot, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose. I rarely went to Temple, except when my parents had dragged me with them, and I barely listened in Sunday School. But to hear that we were one jump away from the possible birthplace of the Gods, of all of us, made my heart pound. I didn't know how they could be sure, but a habitable world in this universe of gas giants and desolate rocks was still a beautiful thing beyond words.

Then I remembered the first announcement from Galactica. Adama had said he was taking us to Earth, that its classified location was a guarded secret, all these millennia the Colonials thrived in back our system. I wasn't so sure what was true then, and what wasn't. Earth was a myth. Even many religious scholars dismissed it as allegory or fable. Then I met the man who saved us, and he handed me back my only picture of my mother, amidst the throngs at the Wall. I gave him my fear, and despair, and he left me with hope, all with one look into his steel-blue eyes. He knew where we were going, so. . .

I looked back at Pinklon, who shrugged. Evidently, she was well enough in his eyes to lay it out on the table for us, so I edged my chair closer, and leaned against the metal bedrail. I had to ask the hardest question since I wondered "what next," after jumping beyond the Red Line.

"Diana?"

She didn't move, staring at the opposite wall. The tendons in her long neck were taut, and jumping a little.

"Diana, wh-why would the President need the Arrow of Apollo if we already know where we're going?"

She sighed, as if she was pointing out an obvious thing even a baby could understand.

"Because we don't know where we're going. Because. . . we never did."

The slender lump she made under the covers trembled, a little, and she balled the sheets within clenched fists. I knew what was coming now. I knew how I had built a foundation on mud and sand. So did she, behind a failing idealism that was chipping away, ever since she confided her rubberstamp endorsement of Gaius Baltar, and marines stormed her ship. I rose, leaning white-knuckled against the railing.

"Look at me," I told her. Diana just lay there, still. She had tried to face everything that came her way head on. I wasn't about to let to let her duck now. I had to see her eyes, when she answered this time. I would see her eyes when she answered me.

"I said look at me!"

I felt Pinklon's hand on my shoulder, I brushed it away. She was just fine. If she could still keep a secret after being driven to the brink, she could let it go, job be damned. This was about survival now, not diplomacy.

I expected her to snap around, sit up again, crackling with renewed fury. Instead, Diana merely turned her head, slowly, back to me. If she hadn't been dehydrated, tears would have been forming in the corners of her eyes, which gave me nothing but a sense of her shame.

We both knew what I was about to ask, and what she would tell in return. But it had to be said, to have the palpable reality of the spoken word.

"There's no Earth, is there?"

"She believes there is... now. But. . . " her voice grew thin, matching the weakness of her body, but her eyes never wavered from mine, and I saw every bit of her sorrow, and the confusion I felt. "No. There isn't. I'm sorry. He said there was, and the President went along with it. I'm so. . .sorry."

"Why? Why lie?" I could see why they may have done it. We needed something more than just to survive. The lukewarm acceptance of the Earth plan still wasn't enough to keep us from tearing at one another.

"Because...It provided hope. It provided the people a reason to live. That first week, even..."

"I can see why they did it. Not everybody bought it. Why you?"

Just weeks ago, she questioned her very code of ethics, her reasons for doing her job, just for endorsing a weak Vice President, yet she held this, the darkest secret in the fleet, with fervor. I didn't know if I was angry at Diana, or if I felt sorry for her.

A sparkle of defiance glinted in her eyes, lifting a fraction of her sorrow away.

"Why did I do it? For the same reason. How hard would anyone have fought to live, if they didn't have that hope? How hard would YOU have fought, if you didn't have it? I did it because people need something to fight FOR, something to live for."

I leaned over her, close, until she was virtually swallowed by my shadow. The anger rumbled in my gut. This same woman who was crumbling inside over Baltar, now was sadly proud of what they did.

"You listen to me, Madame Secretary. I don't need some bullshit reason to stay alive."

She grabbed my shirt, and pulled herself up to face me. Her look told me that she thought I wasn't thinking straight.

"Then you'd be the only damn one! And maybe you do and maybe you don't! I saw how deeply touched, how inspired you were, talking about Adama and Earth! You believed, and it made a difference! Everyone needs a reason to live! Everyone!"

She had me. I couldn't say anything to that. I was just like everyone else. I wanted to believe, so it was real. Even against all common sense. I felt Pinklon's hand on my shoulder, as he used the other to ease Diana back down into bed.

"Okay, everyone. I think we've had our fill of startling revelations for the afternoon. You need your rest, Miss Thalyka."

Diana grudgingly let go, and turned away from me as best she could, tethered to her IV drip. I just backed behind the curtain again. Pinklon followed a moment later.

"Well? You get what you needed," he asked me.

I left without another word and returned down the narrow hall, back to CiC, to give the Captain his coveted news. Something as simple as running from certain death held its own labyrinth of deceit and maneuvering. Bertrand had led us into Phelan's black market web, and now, the entire backbone of our dying society was built on lies, all told without a blink of the eye.

We didn't have Earth anymore. When everything else was stripped away, all we had was each other to rely on, and our own personal reasons to face a new day. Stengler called a meeting in the mess hall. I had to tell everyone what Diana told me.

I looked in their eyes, seeing a resigned acceptance in most about the lie of Earth. Mangan smiled and just shook his head. Toby just said "I knew it, I knew it, man." The others, even Nick, were dumbstruck into silence. The whole Arrow of Apollo thing, and Roslin's sudden belief in Earth, piqued, renewed interest, and so much cross-talk that Jeffers had to shut us up twice.

"So where the frak is Kobol?" Briar asked.

I shrugged. "It was probably where the raptor pilot, Boomer, came from when she destroyed a basestar--"

"Before she blew away Adama," Marty yelled.

"That is enough, Samuels," Jeffers snapped. He got up, came around the front of the folding table. "We are missing our foreman, and the military has turned on us. This is what our… guest has told us. And we just have to deal with it. We can bitch about being frakked over, or we can keep on going, and try to found out where Caffrey is while we cover our own asses."

Once again, Milt Jeffers gave a compelling ass-reaming that had little or no impact, as he pointed out the blatantly obvious. He walked up to Mangan and handed him our schedule.

"Get 'em to work, Mangan. We're still patching up from the pump motor incident. And remember, sidearms at all times."

Sidearms at all times. We left Libron one day, several months ago, a bunch of mechanics. We became booze runners, traders, saviors--if you needed something fixed--and now gunslingers.

Shortly after dinnertime, we received no more word from the Gideon, other than that most of the deaths had no confirmed ID's at the time, and the bodies were taken back to Galactica. We wouldn't know for at least twelve hours, according to estimates around the fleet. I hoped wherever Caff was, he was safe. He was smart, tough. He would find a way.

I was about to change into my nightclothes, as others headed to the bathroom with towels and shaving kits in tow, when the intercom signaled a shuttle hard sealing on the aft airlock, adjoining the cargo hold. Mangan told me, Toby, and Coursen to strap on our guns, head up top. It was Zenar, from the Prometheus, but you couldn't be too careful these days.

We helped him bring out two, 3-meter-long steel crates, that were about 1.5 meters deep. He smiled as he told us to open them. Toby let a low whistle escape his lips as the lid came open. I didn't know what they were exactly called, but these were military grade automatic rifles, 15 total, with plenty of 20mm full metal jacket ammo.

"Things are getting pretty hairy. This'll level the playing field."

I looked over our lethal acquisitions, feeling like I carried a squirt gun under my arm. I tested one out, dryfiring and looking through the sights. It wasn't very heavy, but it packed a lot of punch. Just what we needed if Galactica and her mad interim (hopefully) Commander decided to come sniffing around.

Zenar turned to leave.

"By the way," he said. "We hope Caffrey comes back soon. That's straight from Phelan. He's been checking up on every ship he can, but no luck. If he comes back let us know."

I nodded, and we thanked him for our Small Army Starter Set.

We were using the word "if," now. And my heart sank, as I realized it didn't feel wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

"Shit man." Bobby grumbled, as he poked around his scrambled eggs with his plastic fork. "Any chance of getting the good powdered eggs again?"

We all sat around a long table in the mess hall just like every morning, except Caff wasn't there. Anyone else would have killed for scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and a side of grits in this fleet. Most everyone else ate the rations doled out by the government, but we made our deals, and we had the right affiliations. Phelan had said the other "good" stuff we were trading for would look like swill. These eggs were a little rubbery, and the sausage had that distinctive synthetic protein aftertaste, but I doubt anyone else was eating much better.

Toby shrugged, as he built a makeshift sandwich, scooping his eggs between his slices of toast.

"Tastes better with ketchup," he said, behind a mouthful.

Mangan drank his coffee, in silence, looking over the schedule on the clipboard. It wouldn't be much. Not many civvies shuttles were moving, so we didn't have to do much off ship. The most we would have to do was finish up hose maintenance on the port stabilizers, and make sure our new guns were oiled up. That wouldn't be on paper though. We had company, after all.

"So, Jay," Marty asked me. "Is, uh, our guest gonna eat with us."

I looked up to him and found more eyes on me. Bobby, the other lift driver Dan, Ed, Nick. Yeah, big news. Would the woman who totally shattered everything we believed in, from a hospital bed, be joining the freighter jocks of the Lady for breakfast?

I shrugged. "I dunno. If she's up to it, probably. She was on the run for three days or something like that. She's gotta be hungry by now."

Nick leaned over, so I could see him behind Dan's head. "Heard she had an IV in her arm an' shit."

I nodded. The tension around me made a subtle shift upward. Right now, only the Captain's emphatic order that we would protect her kept them from being outwardly vocal, at least in front of me. I could tell she meant trouble to most of these guys, especially Nick, Briar, and the cargo guys. She probably was trouble for me too. Caff was missing because he needed her to be safe, because he believed she was too important. I thought about that, and wondered, as the curtain closed on the farce that was Earth, what she was living for, if not a better place. Was it because she was doing something she believed in, or was it the fact that her job could never, ever end? It was hard to ponder why she was still in this fleet, this universe, when she had to wade through endless kilometers of red tape every day. Me? I was starting to feel okay with just rolling with the gut instinct to survive, because surviving was what intelligent beings were supposed to do. Besides, the Cylons wanted us dead. I'd be damned if I ever did anything to make their lives easier.

"Hey, Krenzik," Ed said, behind a mouthful of the sort of okay powdered eggs. "She got any other bombs to drop on us? I mean, President's nuts, no Earth. Kobol, and shit? There anything else she hinted at?"

Mangan looked up from his clipboard, through his eyebrows.

"Why dontcha ask, her, Eddie," he said, before I could reply.

Diana came through the doorway, from Pinklon's office. She must have borrowed the company issue khaki pants from Moore, since they barely hung on to her hips, the cuffs pooling around the flipflops on her feet. Her upper torso swam in a green nurse's smock, which was tucked in and bunched around the waist of Moore's trousers. I looked up, watched her head up to Lina, at the start of the line. She carried a familiar-looking printout from the nurse. Most likely, it was orders for what she could and could not eat. She did her best to make her strides as politically perfect as possible, but there was no saving the clunkiness of walking in sandals, in clothes many sizes too big. Her gaze met mine briefly, and her face looked clean, freshly scrubbed, with a little color returned. Her still-wet hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.

I looked around, and found seven other heads trained on her while Lina heaped double rations onto her plate. Toby turned to me, leaned across the table.

"Hey, Jay," he whispered. "I never knew how big an ass Moore really had, man!" Marty choked on his orange juice, and I had to force every muscle in my face not to smile. Yeah, Diana probably could have used one leg for a skirt.

Diana thanked Lina, which was a definite rarity for her and Neil, and came over to our table. Everybody failed miserably to look casual, even Mangan. Our FTL tech couldn't look interested in much of anything if he tried, except now. I realized why. She headed for the empty seat, at the end of the table to my right, and Toby's left. It was never official, but Caff always sat at the head of this table, and, without a thought, we left this chair empty, his chair. She looked pensively at us, then to me.

"May I join all of you," she asked. Her impeccable manners were so out of place, I couldn't find the words to come out. I looked down the line, and everyone just stared blankly at the Secretary. I gestured toward the seat--Caff's seat.

"Sure."

She laid down her tray, slid into her chair. As she unfolded her paper napkin, and placed it in her lap, Toby suddenly became self-conscious of the big hunk he took out of his sandwich, and made a point to lick a stray bit up into his mouth.

The stares didn't move an inch. First, there was a woman on board. Second, she was sitting in our Foreman's seat. Finally, she was the one who told us the President had gone nuts, and Earth was a myth--but it might not be. Oh yeah, and the beginning of everything was supposedly a short jump away.

She cleared her throat.

"Thank you," she said, her pitch filled the room just enough to be heard, but not overwhelm, just as she did the first time she came aboard the Lady. Old habits died hard.

"Thank you all, for letting me stay here. I won't forget it."

No one nodded. No one said "you're welcome." Nothing. Eyes found their way back to plates and forks resumed picking at half-eaten food.

I looked to her.

"No problem," I said, then I shifted my gaze down the table, trying to make eye contact with the few that would look up to me. "No problem at all."

I allowed her a slight smile, and she returned it.

"Is. . .Is there any word on your foreman," she asked.

I shook my head. "We hope to find out something today. We're hoping for the best." I tried to make my words sound cool, even, but as I fumbled around breakfast with my fork, I knew I failed.

"I hope he returns soon. He's a good man. I wish there were a thousand more like him."

Everyone else looked up again, with a start. Toby's expression softened a little, and he grinned slightly.

Mangan coolly met her gaze from the opposite end.

"So say we all," he told her, and us.

"So say we all," we returned.

Everyone resumed eating, and chatter started up once more. Diana tentatively dug her fork into her double heap of eggs. I noticed no sausage was on her plate, replaced with a Styrofoam bowl of oatmeal. Above that were two eight-ounce cups of orange juice.

"Go on," Toby said. "This has to be better than that ration shit you get--got on Colonial One."

She smiled wanly in return, and lifted her fork. After that first bite, she heaped more into her mouth, barely swallowing and, it seemed, barely tasting her meal. The same lady that sweated buckets in our break room Down Below, yet sipped water as if she were at a state dinner, was evidently on vacation. Nick put down his coffee cup, staring. Soon the rest of us were all about watching Secretary Diana Thalyka inhale her breakfast. No one timed it, but she demolished everything in front of her in probably three minutes.

She turned toward the kitchen, and Lina, who was lifting out the steel serving trays and scraping them off. She suddenly remembered the napkin, lifted it from her lap and wiped her lips.

"Thank you so much, Lina," she said. "Thank you, Neil. That was delicious."

Marty laughed. "Damn, they weren't shittin' when they said you didn't eat for a few days!"

Toby elbowed him, telling him to shut up, as chuckles rattled on down the table. I laughed a little, too, as she turned back to us, blushing. It made me happier than expected to see a genuine bit of color flush into her skin from something other than anger or fear.

Neil conveyed his usual soft-spoken thanks, and Lina actually smiled--sincerely!

"I hope your attitude rubs off on the knuckledraggers, honey," she replied. With that, she resumed her scraping.

Diana actually laughed then, covering her mouth demurely with one hand. Our happiness slowly receded, though, when we saw Jeffers behind us, face flushed, eyes looking a little too wet. In a wavering hand was a printout. The only noise left was the electric hum of the ventilation system.

Diana looked to me, slowly shaking her head. All of us knew what was coming.

"As of. . . 0630. . . "

He licked his lips, as the sheet fluttered in his hand. I heard Nick murmur "no," behind me. Toby slid off his ballcap.

"James Caffrey was i-identified and pronounced dead aboard Galactica, of multiple gunshot wounds. We don't know when they will return his body."

Milt Jeffers stood frozen, there, as we digested the unthinkable. Caff always found a way, he always had a plan, but not this time.

"No…"

Diana shook her head. "No!" She slumped, in Caff's seat, stray locks of hair draping trembling hands, as sobbed into them.

Mangan stood, and walked up to Jeffers, his left hand twitched, and that was the only indication of the shock he felt with us. I watched Diana, thought about how, 24 hours ago, Caff sat in that same seat, just like every morning on the Lady for my entire six years and change on the boat, and a decade before that.

Tears rolled down Marty's face, as he stared into space, running a hand over his hair slowly, again and again. Briar laid a consoling hand on Nick's shoulder, as he buried his face in his hands, muttering something I couldn't understand.

Mangan's jaw worked, but nothing came out. Caffrey had been a close friend for years, ever since they first signed on with New Castle Freight, through divorces and watching children grow up, while they jockeyed around the Colonies. They survived it all, until now.

"Mr. Jeffers, wh-what are we gonna do. About putting him to rest?"

The XO nodded. "Well, the best we can do is a memorial service. We can't get a Priest--"

Toby jumped from his seat, tears coursing down his cheeks, now. "What?"

Jeffers stopped talking, as our welder started slowly toward him.

"What was that, Mr. Jeffers? Did you just say we can't get a Priest for Caff?"

"That's right Dempsey. Traffic is at a--"

"Bullshit!"

Toby's face was almost maroon, as he leaned in, almost forehead to forehead with the XO. Mangan grabbed his arm, but he shoved it away. My limbs still wouldn't move, and I just watched, because that was all I could do.

"Step back, Dempsey."

"What? Whatcha gonna do if I don't--Milton?" Mangan just hung his head, but stayed close, in case it really went too far.

"Dempsey! Back…up."

"You gonna write me up? Gonna recommend termination to personnel?"

"Look--"

Toby snatched a handful of Jeffers shirt and life coursed back through me, and I joined the rest lunging forward. Mangan tried in vain to wedge himself between them, as I grabbed one arm, and Ed the other.

"You gonna get another godsdamned welder? Huh?"

Tears streamed freely then, as his eyes bulged. Jeffers didn't give up an inch, though.

"Shoulda been you, Jeffers. We needed Caff more than we ever needed your sorry ass!"

"Toby…" I began, as my vision blurred and my eyes began to sting. "This is no good man, come on--"

"Krenzik," Jeffers said. "Let him go. You too, Coursen."

By then the Captain burst through the double doors from CiC, along with Moore, but stopped short of the fray, as they saw us free Toby's arms.

Toby's chest heaved with each breath, as he cried silently, glaring at Jeffers.

"Listen to me, Dempsey. I knew Jim Caffrey when you were still a little kid. I got him the foreman's job on this boat because he was the best mechanic who ever worked for me, and one of the finest people I've ever known. But we can't get his body, and we can't get a Priest. It's up to us to put him to rest the best we can. If mopping up the floor with me will change anything that's happened, then have at it. Otherwise, you go with the rest, back down, and find a crate that we can use, and find any personal affects you want to leave with him."

Stengler cleared his throat.

"Mr. Jeffers, we received condolences from Phelan and the crew of the Prometheus. I made him aware of our problem, and he promises a Priest will be here in time for a memorial service this evening."

Then he looked over the rest of us. "Go on," the Captain said. "There's nothing that can't wait. Just carry out Mr. Jeffers' orders, and we're going to put Caffrey to rest, tonight, after dinner.

I turned to leave with the rest, and saw Diana hunched over, trembling.

"Krenzik!"

I turned to him, wiping my eyes. "Yeah, Cap'n?"

"Take Miss Thalyka back to Pinklon, then I need to see you in CiC. As soon as you can get there."

I extended my hand, and Diana grasped it to help herself up out of Caff's seat. But it wasn't Caff's seat anymore. It never would be again.

Down the narrow corridors of steel, Diana sniffled into a wadded tissue, on our way back to the nurse's station. I wanted to let it out, but my grief was lodged down deep, a numb hollowness that didn't feel like it would ever leave. I remembered Laura Roslin's whiteboard, and the heavy black number scrawled on it. The last vestiges of humanity now would subtract a few more from that total, not because viper pilots died valiantly protecting us, nor because of a Cylon sneak attack. We were feeding off ourselves now, and Saul Tigh was the first to bring his empty stomach to the table.

Within sight of Pinklon's office, Diana stopped, reddened, puffy eyes looked up to me.

"He shouldn't have done it, Jay. He should have been on that shuttle out! He shouldn't have given me that seat!"

All I could do was look at her. What could I say? It wasn't her fault, Caff practically threw her on that shuttle, just as he probably would have done for the any of his men on the Lady. I felt like anything that came from my lips would be utterly useless. How could I offer consolation when I felt barren inside? She grabbed my wrist, fingernails digging in. At that moment I was almost glad to feel something other than hollow, even if it was pain.

"I tried stop him! But he just wouldn't listen! I tried to tell him he had to get off that ship! But he told me...he told me he could take care of himself! He told me he'd be fine, that he'd join us on the next shuttle out, after it was all over! I knew he shouldn't stay, even then! Why didn't he listen? Why…"

More tears rolled down her cheeks, and I found my arms encircle her, one hand cradling her head against my chest. My lips touched her hair, as I tried to shush her.

"Shhh…Diana, it's not your fault."

She continued, unabated, crying into my chest.

"That seat was supposed to be his! He was going to be off that ship, if wasn't for me!"

She looked up, her chin digging into my breastbone.

"And I couldn't convince him not to put me on that shuttle!"

I shook my head, fighting the urge to brush a stray hair away from her face. I wanted her to stop--just stop. I felt helpless enough, but I couldn't understand how she accept the weight of the fleet on her shoulders, even then, as her lack of blame should have been clear cut.

"Nobody could stop Caff once he set his mind to doing something. It's not your fault he's gone. The blame goes to one place. And it's not here."

That was one thing we had, in this morass of gray areas and vague morality. One man sent those marines over there. Even the one that pulled the trigger probably knew he didn't have a prayer if he didn't come back with results--no matter what.

"I shouldn't have HAD to change his mind, even! I'm not worth it! I'm not ANYTHING anymore! But he couldn't see that! He just... the way he spoke to me... the things he said...it was like nothing had changed, in his mind! Why couldn't he see that? Why--"

I'd had enough, I couldn't carry her grief and mine. I clutched her wrists. I fought to keep my voice down.

"That was his way! He believed in what you were trying to do. I'm not going to listen you carry this around. His blood is not on your hands! Now come on."

I took her by the arm, to Pinklon's door. Before she entered, she turned back to me.

"Everyone's blood is on my hands, Jay," she said, in a tiny, helpless voice. " All of them. Everyone's blood is on my hands, and Billy's, and the President's--on all our hands. It's the way things work. The way they've always worked."

I shook my head.

"Not here."

With that, I headed down to CiC. Nothing would change her mind, nothing ever would. Her ideals were all she had left, now that our government was shattered into a thousand pieces. They would probably be her burden as well as her security blanket for the rest of her life--which could end next week, or whenever Saul Tigh needed some coffee, or tylium, or whatever. All four of our flight officers turned when I entered, and they stood, with Brad Stengler in front.

"Krenzik," he began. "Jay, when we first started trading, and decided Caffrey would be best suited to run the. . .business end of all this, we did it because he was among the people, just like all of you, and he had a way about him with others, like you do."

I just looked at them, and they stared back as if the conclusion was as evident as the ships floating in formation around us.

"What I'm trying to tell you, Jay, is this."

Jay? I realized then that Stengler had never called me by my first name, ever. Now, he had done it twice.

"Caffrey and I went over a lot of things, and one of them was what would happen should he pass on. We all agreed that-that you would replace him as foreman."

"Me?"

I had to lean against the hatch, as my legs felt suddenly unstable.

"What about Mangan, he--"

Jeffers cut me off.

"Mangan is good with machines. That's why he's never gone beyond FTL tech, never wanted to. Being a foreman is about people. And you've done a lot of good things, because you understand people. We think they'll follow you, Krenzik."

"Before we announced the news," Stengler said. "We boxed up Caffrey's things. You can start moving into the foreman's quarters any time you like."

The foreman is dead! Long live the foreman! It didn't feel right, just rumbling into his old room when Caff's body was barely cold. I didn't know how I felt. Last week, I was in a fistfight with Nick. Before that, I remembered my shaking hands as I tried to light a smoke, after wading through a sea of dirty orphans. I was the same guy who landed Diana Thalyka on the cover of "Scuttlebutt." I barely did anything that day on Colonial One. Caff did it all, standing proud before the President of the Twelve Colonies, giving her the no-nonsense summation of why her ship needed parts right then. He walked out working-class hero. I walked out a political liability.

The Captain extended his hand, and I shook it, firmly. My misgivings were, as of that moment, irrelevant. So what if my heart was about to explode out of my chest? I couldn't mourn any longer. I had an engine room to run. My feelings had to burrow deep.

I shook all their hands, after that, and finally, Stengler handed me Caff's sidearm.

"We have faith in you, Krenzik," Stengler said. "Now get your men to work."

My men? It still didn't feel right. Maybe it never would.

I turned to leave, stopped.

"Sir," I told Stengler. "For now, give Diana my quarters. She'll have the privacy she needs in there, and her own bathroom.

Stengler nodded, and I thought about handing them back Caff's weapon, to give to her, as well, but decided to do it myself. After all, I'd know for sure she was at least told correctly how load and fire it.

I didn't waste any time, returning to Pinklon's office. Diana recoiled at first, when I removed the 9mm semi-auto, as if I was handing her a rabid weasel to cuddle. I pressed, and she finally curled her fingers around the grip. The pistol looked like a cannon in her small hands, and I could tell she wasn't used to its weight. I took it back, pointed out everything.

"This is the trigger…the safety… got it?"

She nodded, as if she almost didn't comprehend the language I was using.

I sighed. "Look. If it comes down to it, you may need to use this. Tigh doesn't take prisoners." I slid out the clip, made sure Diana saw how I did it, then slammed it back into place, handed it back to her.

"Now, you do it."

Her fingers clumsily tried to make the clip slide out. She shook her head.

"Show me again," she asked, handing it back.

I did it slowly, the next time, easing it out, slamming it back in once more.

Diana clumsily repeated my motions with the pistol. It wasn't great, but she showed me she could do it.

"Practice," I told her. "By the way, Stengler's going to come down here, tell you to move into Caff's--my quarters whenever you're ready."

My quarters? It didn't feel right, didn't ring true in my ears. I wondered if it ever would.

She stared at the weapon that she held gingerly in both hands, then looked up at me.

"Your quarters? You mean--"

"Yeah. Looks like I got an engine room to run."

I had an engine room, a still, and lots of trade to worry about, in addition to protecting our cargo and the lives of seven other people, aft. My thoughts raced, every step feeling leaden, going through the narrow corridors, through the mess, and down the ladder. What would Mangan think of all this, and everyone else? Nick Sorg? I didn't want to know.

I slid down the ladder, and was relieved, at least, that I wouldn't have to go find the crew--my crew. My crew? They stood in our usual meeting circle in front of the main turbine, and I took the vacant patch of concrete where Caff would never stand again. Mangan looked me over, with his usual icy calm. Everyone stood there. Nick was staring blankly, eyes downward. Marty and Toby looked at me, a little wide-eyed.

The FTL tech--my second, handed me the clipboard, with our schedule. He knew. They all did, already.

"Caff told me, after he hashed it out with Stengler. They're all yours, boss. I know where you're gonna send me, so I'm gonna get to it."

With that, he lit a smoke, and headed toward his place, amidst the circuitry and energy coils of the FTL room.

I cleared my throat, sweating as everyone looked up at me, needing someone, needing me to tell them what to do.

"Well," I said, glad I didn't sound as nervous as I felt. "Like the Captain said, go find anything you want to send off with Caff. In a minute, I'm heading to tell Briar to find a good spaceworthy crate. Have what you need ready by 1850 hours, like Stengler said. After. . . "

I looked to Nick Sorg, who stared right back, icily. "After lunch, Nick , you go take Marty with you and do the hose check/maintenance of the port aft stabilizers. He hasn't seen much of that since joining us. And you need the hands-on Marty. And one more thing. We don't have any shuttles scheduled, except the Priest's. We will meet any docking ship, in force, armed. Tomorrow, we take those assault rifles to the firing range. That's all."

With that I turned around, left my men to their duties, to find my own memories of Caff, and figure out what I wanted to leave with him, as we laid him to rest.

One of the steel crates that had carried our new assault rifles was the right size for a coffin, so we used that. The Priest was younger than most Brothers I'd known, maybe 35, from the luxury liner. He was very warm and friendly, telling us deliberately how the ceremony would go, about half an hour before we were to begin. It was to be short and sweet, but as fitting as it could be, until Tigh saw fit to ever send us Caff's body or his ashes.

We lined the crate with a bed sheet. Jeffers placed Caff's spare ID badge, and a picture our foreman took with his daughter, from a couple years ago. He was with his children, and his twin grandbabies, now. I wondered, if they finally reconciled in Heaven. Nick placed a deck of playing cards, along with our Pyramid ball, alongside. Toby gently laid a mason jar of our house booze down, and his lips moved slightly in prayer, before he moved along. Marty laid down a half-chewed cigar, with Cloud Nine's logo embossed on the band, and, after him, Ed inserted a printout of Caff shaking hands with the president. Mangan placed a snapshot of he and Caff fishing along Lake Tuscan, on Canceron. Then he put a matchbook and a shotglass within. Whatever the latter two meant, it was between the two of them.

After Briar, Bobby, and Dan paid their respects, Diana came up the freight elevator. Her black pantsuit was crisp, clean, her government ID clipped to one wide lapel. The Secretary cradled a triangle of fabric, the Colonial flag that used to hang in the flight crew break room. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, tight bun. Her lips stood out in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, colored a severe burgundy. I figured she probably borrowed some makeup from Moore, who was every bit the polar opposite of Diana's fair complexion, flaxen hair, and willowy build. Her eyes, shadowed a warm brown, met mine for a brief moment, opening a window to her sorrow, as I approached Caffrey's box. She stood a discreet distance behind me, waiting to pay her respects.

With both hands, I tenderly laid my half-full bottle of Old Geminon down. I remembered what Caff said, the morning we all tasted the last can of lemon-lime Blasto. "To better days, so say we all." One day, he and I would toast again.

I rejoined the mechanics--my mechanics--in line, to the left of the crate, and Diana cautiously approached. Her lips pursed, quivered, as tears formed at the edges of her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. She stared at the parting gifts before her. I thought she would lay the flag inside, but instead, with an unsteady hand, she unclipped the badge from her lapel, laid it down next to our offerings. Diana's eyes squeezed shut, and she clutched the edge of the box, there because of his sacrifice. She breathed sharply through her nose, then reached into her jacket pocket, to reveal a lock of her hair. She left it with Caff, turned to join the flight crew on the right, flag in hand.

She extended it reverently, toward Stengler.

"Captain Stengler…"

Her voice cracked, and I wanted to cry, then, leave the last of my tears to my foreman, my friend, but I didn't have the luxury of grief anymore. My jaw tightened, until I thought my teeth would break, and the moment passed.

"Accept James Caffrey's flag, on behalf the grateful people of the Twelve Colonies."

Head bowed, Stengler took the flag, then approached the crate, a decade of age seemingly adding weight to his features. He laid it in, returned to the line.

The Priest nodded to us. It was time to begin. His ornate vestments shined in the overhead lights, as he smoothly unfurled his scrolls.

"The burdens of this life are with us, but a short time. For James Caffrey, son of Delroy and Louise Caffrey, brother of Theodore, Lester, Jenna, Martin, and Simone, the time was too short, but we take comfort in knowing that his life was dedicated to leadership and service of others. We honor him for that, and thus it falls upon us, to repent our sins. And, with the help of the Lords of Kobol, make ourselves worthy of that gift. Now, we commit his body to the universe, from which we were all made, secure in the knowledge that we will be reunited with him in a better place. So say we all."

"So say we all." Our muted cadence seemed almost swallowed by the immensity of the cargo hold. That was our cue, for Briar to raise the airlock's gate, and for us, Caff's men, to place his crate inside.

The flashing strobe above shined red over the buffed metal surface, as she shut lid on Jim Caffrey's life. The alarm droned, almost drowning out the Priest's words, as we gently laid him down, and the gate sealed shut again.

The outer doors parted, and the box shot out into the vacuum, swallowed by the infinite, night, joining the stars and other heavenly bodies that would shine on for eternity.

Goodbye, Caff.


	5. Chapter 5

We sat around the still, even though, beyond a first shot, none of us felt like drinking. Diana was tightlipped, aloof, and returned Up Top.

All of us knuckledraggers sat around the shop, quiet, when Ed started chuckling. All our eyes darted upward, toward him. It was so out of place, that his laughter was actually a little scary.

"What," Toby asked him.

Ed Coursen sighed.

"I was just thinkin' about the time Trichosek--he was the guy you replaced, Marty--got shitfaced, and passed out in his drawers next to the toilet. . . "

A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, and the others smiled a little, too. Even Mangan, who was generally hard-faced enough, without losing one of his best friends. I knew what he was going to say.

"And," Ed continued, fighting another swelling of laughter, which spread some to us, in the form of muted giggles. "And Caff found him, right? And…and he told you…." He pointed to Mangan, who nodded, and took up where Ed left off.

"He told me to run up and tell the Cap'n. And I asked him when he was gonna wake him. And he said…" Mangan started laughing now. I could count on one hand he genuinely laughed out loud. "And he said 'Leave him there! As long as he's still out, he's still got a job!'"

We erupted with laughter, and then everyone else passed around his own Caff stories. They were beginning to heal. I took that as my cue to make a discreet exit. I told them I needed to run Up Top for a minute. I grabbed a couple towels, a bar of soap, and a roll of toilet paper--the basic things Diana would need.

After taking a left at CiC, and down another left, I stood before my door, which was next to Moore's quarters, at the end of the hall. It felt absurd, but I still knocked, before I entered my own space for the first time.

Nothing. I tapped on the hatch again.

"Diana? I brought you up some towels and soap."

Still no answer. I figured she may be in the bathroom. A few months limited to washing over a sink on Colonial One probably would make another shower too good to pass up.

"Okay," I said, into the door. "I'm coming in, I'll just leave it on the bed. So…if you're, uh, indecent, cover up!"

I spun the wheel. It was unlocked. The door creaked open. I expected to hear the shower running, see her clothes laid out on the bed. She seemed the type that took great care of her suits. She had to be to look good in her environment. Instead, she sat at the same table Caff and I did, before everything fell apart. Diana's hands cradled her head, propped up on her elbows. Her hair shined in the dim light that came from the lamp on the end table, still tight in its official bun. She hadn't taken her suit off, which still clung to her the way only finely tailored garments can. Her eyes, with wet, black mascara stains, tracking down her cheeks, stared at the pistol I gave her, which lay before her, muzzle pointing toward her chest.

"Diana?"

Quiet tears were her only answer, as if the 9mm was the only thing in the universe that mattered. I put the towels, soap, and toilet paper down, slid another chair around, and sat on her right, so close our shoulders touched.

I gave her that weapon, and showed her how to load and fire it. My blood turned to ice, when I saw that the safety was off. I felt her trembling, could feel her dark need to focus.

"Hey," I whispered. "Talk to me."

I knew she blamed herself, always would. She demanded miracles from herself every day, and was knocked down. She always got back up, though, to fight again. I wouldn't let her lay down, now. I had lost one person I cared about already. I could not--would not-- let her end it. There weren't many of us left, and I wasn't sure if there was anyone left like her, anymore.

She didn't look at me.

"Leave me alone...please."

I took a deep breath, foundering for what to say next. I fought the urge to just snatch her up and take the gun away, but it held a full magazine, and I didn't know how quick she was. She could snap up the weapon and it could misfire.

"Well," I began, fighting to keep my tone even and calm. "I noticed you forgot some of what I showed you. The safety is off."

Her voice grew soft, almost like that of a little girl, barely breaking the silence.

"I didn't forget."

I leaned in close enough to catch the scent of fresh soap, a cleanliness that she didn't seem to feel within.

"Why?"

She exhaled raggedly.

"He died...for me."

I shook my head. Would she ever see it for what it was?

"Caff died because marines from Galactica killed him. Because Colonel Tigh gave the order. You don't deserve to take the blame from him."

Her fingertips pressed, tensing against her skull. Tendons stood out in her hands, as she bit her lower lip.

"This isn't about blame."

"So what's it about then?"

She let her hands go under the table into her lap, and she turned to me, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in a mix of anger and despair.

"I told you. He died for me."

She trapped herself in a philosophical loop that wouldn't be broken. Let her think what she wanted. She wouldn't die here--not by her own hand.

"And?"

"And I can't let that happen again! Don't you understand? As long as I'm here, as long as I'm anywhere, I'm a risk to those around me. I can't let anyone else die because of me. I can't let anyone else die FOR me."

I shivered a little, at her newly discovered anger. I had never seen her this manic, full of despair.

"So, this is a noble cause, then? Biting down on the gun barrel? Diana Thalyka's last grand altruistic act for mankind? For everything you stand for? I can't believe that."

I was close enough to get at the pistol, but all she had to do was lean toward it to block my path. I silently cursed myself not sitting across from her. Diana's eyes were still on me, though. I had a chance. As I spoke, I slowly eased my right hand across the small table, seeing the weapon in my peripheral vision. I expected cold steel, but I suddenly felt her knuckles underneath, as she slammed her left palm on top of the gun, and pushed futily, against my chest with her free hand. I was close enough to feel her exasperated breath on my face, the weight behind her gaze.

"Get away from me, Jay."

I leaned into her pressing hand.

"No."

Her expression weakened, as she looked at me, her mouth working, but nothing coming out. I felt the pressure against my chest cease.

"You don't understand at all, do you? You heard what the Priest said, at the funeral? 'And, with the help of the Lords of Kobol, make ourselves worthy of that gift.' But I wasn't worthy of it anymore! And I can't let anyone else die because they somehow still think I am! And yes, this is for everything I believe in. Because I can't fulfill it, anymore! Because I'm helpless here, to help my people!"

I felt her fingers shift under mine, curl around the gun. I squeezed her hand, to let her know I still remembered it was there. My brain swam in and around her words, without being able to really understand them. How could she think that she was doing everyone a favor?

I felt a tug against my shirt, and Diana bowed her head a little, in a shame I could not break past.

"And worse than that…not only can I not help them…as long as I'm here…I hurt them, and you--all of you. I'm not worth anything here, anymore. There is nothing I can do, nothing I can change. I can no longer fulfill any of my responsibilities. Nothing more than this: If I cannot help them, I will not put them at risk. It is all I can do, anymore."

"So you don't have a seal and a flag behind you, so you're nothing? You're not just a symbol, nobody is just a symbol, or a number, or a statistic, no matter what anyone else thinks."

"Just a symbol? Who cares, either way? I don't give a damn about symbols! I want RESULTS! It isn't the seal, and it isn't the flag! It's whether or not I can make a difference, for the people, for the Colonies! And I can't….not anymore. Without the resources, the legitimacy, the authority, the others, I have none of it, anymore. I have no authority anymore. I have no colleagues. I have no legitimacy. I have no way to change anything, make any difference in anything--except bad differences. And that tells me…that they are better off…without me."

I gently released her hand from my shirt, took it in mine, and squeezed. There it was, that fire she carried inside, the cadence in her voice, that let you know that she believed what came out of her mouth was important, vital. I knew, then, what was important to me, in that little room, where she wanted to end herself. I realized I had known it ever since she stood proudly on the steps that day, on Colonial One, looking upon me.

"Well, I don't know, about everyone else," I said, leaning in so close that our foreheads nearly touched. "I'm not."

"No, you're not better off with me. As long as I'm here, I'm a liability. I give none of you anything…give no one anywhere anything, anymore. And I probably never will, again. Because this isn't like it would be, back...back home. We can't fight him. His ship could just blow anyone out of the sky. His marines could blow anyone away aboard their ships. So as much as I...as much as I want to believe things will change, as much as I want to fight...HAVE to fight, even, to fulfill my duties…I can't. "

Her hand slid out from around the pistol, from under mine.

"It isn't possible. And if I try, I do nothing but put people at risk. And if I don't try…I still put people at risk. Dammit, you think I WANT it to end this way?"

Shaking hands covered her face as she tried to turn away from me, but I wouldn't let her. I grabbed her wrists, forced them into her lap.

"Look at me."

She would not, but she didn't fight my grip, either.

"Diana, look at me."

I felt weakness in my knees and starched dryness at the back of my throat, as her eyes locked onto mine. I didn't want her to die. I couldn't let her die. I had already lost Caff, and wasn't sure if I could take it if she ended herself. If the most adamant of us didn't want to go on, what was the point?

I didn't know what else to say. How many times can you just tell someone you want her to stay? I raised my hand up to her face, brushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead.

I ran my fingers along her cheek, her jaw line, letting them come to rest along the back of her neck, and tilted her chin up with my thumb. I could feel her breath quicken, as my lips pressed against hers, and they were warm, tinged with the salt sting that she had cried out, contemplating her suicide.

For a breath, I felt her lean into me, give back what I was making her feel, and then her arms slid around me, and she buried her face in my neck and sobbed, quietly. Her hand rubbed along my back, as I embraced her. Diana was frail, almost, in my arms, as shudders coursed through her.

"Shhh," I whispered. "It'll be okay. It will…"

I took her by the shoulders, ended the embrace, and cradled her face in my hands. Diana looked to me as if she wanted to believe, but couldn't, maybe never could. I kissed her on the forehead, and stood. She just watched me, lips parted, hands piled in her lap, as I took the gun, switched on the safety, and stuck it in the back of my waistband.

I could not find words, all I could do was stare into her eyes a moment longer, before shutting the door behind me.

"Well, I don't know, about everyone else," he said as he leaned in even closer. "I'm not."

Better off? He didn't understand. He wasn't better off with me—I put his life at risk, and everyone else's. And even if he somehow was better off with me around…I couldn't just think about one person, or five, or ten. I had to think about ALL of them. Only he didn't understand that. He was foreman now…Maybe, sometime soon, he would understand, on a smaller scale, at least. But not yet. And yet…I looked into his face, and couldn't bear to lay that truth on him…couldn't bear to tell him that in the cold, hard calculations of my life and duty…One person better off with me wasn't nearly enough to outweigh all those who would be better off without me.

"No...no, you're not better of with me. As long as I'm here, I'm a liability. I give none of you anything…give no one anywhere anything, anymore. And I probably never will, again. Because this isn't like it would be, back...back home. We can't fight him. His ship could just blow anyone out of the sky, his marines could blow anyone away aboard their ships. So as much as I...as much as I want to believe things will change, as much as I want to fight...HAVE to fight, even, to fulfill my duties…I can't. "

Maybe it was weakness, not being able to follow through, for once, with what was best for my people. But…I didn't WANT to die. And he didn't want me to die. And somewhere, in the back of my mind now, some little voice cried that in this world as it stood now…one could never count anything out….and maybe I had a duty to survive, for the slim chance that it all could change, that our break might come…Or maybe even just because, regardless of what he said with disdain, about symbols…I WAS a symbol to some of them, now….like I had been to Caffrey. I wasn't sure how it happened…But when he had looked into my face, on the Gideon, after his initial shock…his face had filled with an instant of hope. He had tried to explain it to me. I hadn't understood until now. I had been one of them, in the government. And I was still free. Whether I made a physical difference or not…to Caffrey, and to some of the men and women aboard now…I represented hope, resilience, survival. Slowly, I slid my hands off the gun…and I laid my head in my hands.

"It isn't possible. And if I try, I do nothing but put people at risk. And if I don't try…I still put people at risk. Dammit, you think I WANT it to end this way?"

I tried to turn away then, but he grabbed my hands, forced them away from my face, and turned my towards him.

"Look at me…..Diana, look at me."

I couldn't end it all. And yet…I still put them all at risk, by being here, alive, aboard. I felt trapped…as trapped as I had aboard Colonial One, the day this all started, when the President hung up that phone after speaking to Adama, and turned to us, and we all knew it was the beginning of the end of it all.

Suddenly, his fingers touched my cheek, and he ran them along my face…tilted my face up…and…

….Kissed me?

I don't know why…but I just couldn't resist. Maybe it was the stress, the need for release. Maybe it was the fact that I had craved human contact so much, since the destruction of the Colonies…and had had no chance for any beyond endless professional handshakes and the occasional friendly hand on the shoulder from or to Billy. Or maybe it was love, and I'd just never seen it until now. I'd figure it out all later. At the moment, here, and now…I didn't care….and I found myself finally returning his kiss, for a few moments….before I just couldn't take it all anymore. To my shame and confusion, I collapsed crying again, onto his shoulder.

"Shhh…. "It'll be okay. It will…"

No. No, it wouldn't….The odds of that…the odds of that are just as great as the odds were of me being on the ship that became Colonial One, the day the Colonies were destroyed. I got a miracle, that day. We all did…But I got even more so than most. I never should have been on that ship. But I was. And that captain during the water crisis, could have socked me, should have socked me, could have and should have easily gone on to kill me. But he stopped himself, for reasons I would never know. And shots should have been fired on Colonial One, during the standoff, killing us all. And I should have died on the Gideon, when Tigh's troops boarded it, instead of being spirited away. Most people live their whole lives without even one miracle. The human race had had so many, these past few months…And on top of those, I'd had four of my own. There's limit to how many miracles can occur, in one's life...and I'd probably already exceeded it.

He grabbed me by the shoulders, and held my face in his hands…looked into my eyes, and leaned foreword to kiss my forehead briefly…Then, he picked up the gun that lay forgotten on the table, flipped the safety, and stuck it his waist band…and walked out the door without another word.

I collapsed onto the bed then, in the room of the man who had given his life for mine, and just laid there, sobbing into the pillows…for how long, I don't know. Eventually, however--whether due to the lingering effects of dehydration, or the fact that after so many tears, these last few months, there come a time when you have none left—I found I had no more tears left to cry, at the moment. Slowly, I pulled myself into a sitting position, rubbed my eyes clear, and rose from the bed…Looking around the room, I felt as if I would rather do anything else—But I forced my eyes to sweep the entire room, twice over.

The man who had lived here had died, for me. I would have to live with that for the rest of my life…..however long that was. But the more I thought about it…the more I was certain he would have wanted me to stay here, of all places….to know that even in death, he was continuing to shelter me. Because for some reason, still somewhat beyond my comprehension, he had thought I was worth it…and like the Priest had said…it was now up to me to make myself worth it. And as I looked around that little room the last time, that seemed so huge to me after my months on Colonial One, an idea was already forming in my mind. Supplies. Tigh stormed the Gideon because he wanted supplies, for Galactica. But who was it, who had coordinated the distribution of supplies, to the fleet as a whole, ship to ship to ship? It wasn't Galactica…it had been Colonial One. And without us…I doubt anything was being done about it. Tigh wouldn't care…he probably wouldn't even think of it. And without anyone to control it all, even in the loosest of possible ways…I didn't even want to think of what would happen…of how many ships would turn on each other, of how many people wouldn't get what they needed. I could feel myself stand a little straighter, now…Straighter than I had since I had sat in that room and listened to Tigh over the wireless, bringing an end to it all. I wondered, why I couldn't see it before, head down on the table, staring at the gun…and why I had been stopped, and could only see it afterwards. I had never considered myself very religious…But here, and now, standing in the midst of such strange circumstances, and such strange realizations…Whether real or just an illusion….I felt I could nearly feel, reassuring on my shoulder, the hand of the man who had saved me, as I walked out that door with purpose, heading for the man who could help me make it all come true.

I couldn't remember how I arrived in the engine room, the first time I was here, months ago. Captain Stengler had led me down a maze of corridors, to a cafeteria, and then Jay guided me to the steel grate they called the catwalk. Luckily, this time, I noticed there were arrows, showing me the way to the cafeteria, and then, the engine room.

I stood on the catwalk, overlooking the giant engine and all the pipes and tubes that fed into it from ducts above and below me. I wondered how these men could comprehend this maze of gauges, circuitry, and steel. On the floor, two of the mechanics stood, talking quietly to one another, oblivious to me. The heavier set, shorter man—Nick?--looked up at me, as though I were seeing something that was not for my eyes. The other man, a taller, leaner mechanic, who I recalled was named Ed, saw me above them.

"Hey, uh, you need something, Miss Thalyka?"

I felt nervous, with their eyes on me, as if they felt I was treading on sacred ground, not meant for me.

"I…I need to see Jay Krenzik, your foreman."

Ed gestured up, toward a hatch on the opposite side of the engine room, on the catwalk.

"He's up on the observation deck, in the hold."

"Thank you."

As I made my way there, I tried not to look like was making too much haste, but I could feel their eyes on me every step of the way….Even after I had passed out of their line of sight.

Finally reaching the entrance to the cargo hold, I gripped the wheel on the hatch, struggled to turn it, and leaned back, using all of what little weight I had to pull the hatch open. Then, I slipped through the opening, into a fairly brightly lit, HUGE room.

Rows upon rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves were stacked with crates of all sizes, and in spite of everything, a slight, brief smile played across my lips: This could work, this could actually work.

Directly in front of me, there was a wide, empty path where no shelves were, leading down to a large, open area with an enormous window in from of it. He was sitting there, on a what looked like nothing so much as a black metal park bench, staring out the window. He didn't turn as I entered, nor as I walked towards him, my shoes clicking on the hard floor. In fact, I was able to get right behind him, less than a foot away, and he still didn't turn…Still didn't seem to even know I was there.

"Jay?"

He turned his head, a sad little smile on his face.

"Change your mind, did you?"

Honestly. How dense could he get? Hadn't he figured out I'd changed my mind the moment I took my frakking hand off the gun? Or was this another attempt at a bad joke, as poor in taste as the day he had joked about memorial services only a few days after I had attended the initial service on Galactica?

But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I took a deep breath and attempted to calm myself. Because I could see the fleet, or some of it, though the huge window in front of us. And regardless of whether he was thinking straight, or whether he was saying the right things, the wrong things, or something in between…I had to be thinking straight, I had to say the right things, make the right plans…for all the people, on those ships through the window.

"I need your help."

"With what?"

He didn't even wait for me to answer, before turning his head back to the view…Almost as if he didn't want to meet my eyes. Very odd…for someone who had so recently demanded that I meet his...

I walked around him, to take a seat on the bench next to him, facing the ships, and decided to try a different approach, pointing out the window as I spoke.

"Let me rephrase that…I need your help…to help them."

Even now, he didn't turn, and I began to wonder just why he couldn't look at me, when he had so recently been desperate to lock eyes with me.

"I...couldn't sleep. Came up here to think. Other times, like now, I'd bump into Caff up here."

And now, he never would again. Little wonder he would come here, now….

"Did he come here often?"

"He was up here quite a bit."

I realized, at that moment….I knew almost nothing of him, his history, his personality, his soul. I'd only met the man twice. I knew barely enough to even comprehend why he would have sacrificed himself for me….And I wanted to know more.

"What…What was he like?"

He turned to face me finally, then, and it was like a mask…The same type of mask I had worn, those first few days, those first few weeks, mixed with the kind I had worn more recently…numbness, and shame.

"He's a better man than I'll ever be."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He looked as if he were about to protest, and I reached out to grab his hand in between mine, and pull him a bit further towards me.

"We are all of us unique…strengths, weaknesses, triumphs, failures. With so few of left…the loss of any diminishes us….so…"

I could barely finish my sentence, remembering every time about Colonial One that the eraser was swiped across the Board….

"….so much. There will never be another man like him…"

Or like any of those we had lost.

"…but that doesn't mean you can't be a good man, too! "…And thus it falls upon us, to repent our sins…and make ourselves worthy of that gift". That's what the Priest said. And it does, fall upon us. I couldn't see that before…but I can see it now. In both of us. He chose you, to be foreman, in the event of his death. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't think you had the capacity in you to be just as skilled, just as responsible, just as good a man, in your own way."

His head dropped, whether in confusion of in shame, or probably in doubt, and he put a hand over mine, and shook his head. I could see the corners of his lips turn up slightly in a bitter smile, the same kind we had both worn the night Baltar had won the election.

"I got into a fistfight with Nick, last week. Now I'm his boss. I've... I've never had to take care of anyone else before. Or at least didn't want to when I did."

As much as I wanted to be kind, gentle, in that moment….I couldn't. Because doing that wouldn't get any results. This world isn't kind anymore, and it isn't gentle…And you learn. Or you fail, and people die. She called me into her office, appointed me to her Cabinet, had me sworn in before I could even think of protesting…She never talked gently to me, no words of kind encouragement, no words of sympathy….Just a stack of files in my arms, and a look on her face that told me she believed in me. And until now, until Tigh had stormed Colonial One….I had proved her faith in me correct, at every turn. I remembered my thoughts, as I had stood, alone for a few brief moments, in the bathroom aboard Colonial One, shortly after I was sworn in…

"Forget last week! Forget before! It doesn't exist, anymore. Because when Caffrey died, everything you were died with him. And if it didn't kill it now….because it has to."

I put my hands on his shoulders, trying to lessen, as much as I could, the blow of what I was saying, of what had to be said.

"You are not who you were before. So you cannot be who you were before. Ever again. You're the foreman now. So be the foreman. And never look back. Because if you look back…."

My voice trailed off, and I realized, now, amazingly…Even now, when I had nothing left, I hadn't looked back to before the bombs fell. I had only back to those days on Colonial One. Because the woman I was before the bombs fell was gone…I had destroyed her, of my free will, to be what I needed to become. I could never bring her back. I looked into his eyes, and resisted the urge to flinch away…It wasn't an easy process, what I had done, what he had to do now. And you lost something of you, in it…Part of what made you human, and something you could never regain.

"….if you ever look back…you will fail. And you're not going to fail. Because too many people are counting on you to succeed. And too many people believe in you….too many people here…and in the great beyond, with the Gods."

He looked at me for a moment, and it was the same type of stunned silence, unable to pretest, unable to speak, that I had worn as I was called back. Then, he turned his head back to the window, to look out at the future of humanity—if we were lucky—laid out before us.

"How do you think I can help you...and everybody else?"

I pointed at various of the crates surrounding us, waving my arm from one to another randomly.

"See those?"

He shook his head, slowly, and I continued.

"This ship probably has more supplies than at least 2/3's of the ships in the fleet. And certainly a great ability to store and distribute. Tigh's marines shot people…for coffee! He's thinking about resupply for Galactica. But he won't be thinking about the rest of those ships! We were responsible for trying to coordinate that supply distribution, as best as we could…For handling complaints over unfair trades, and trying to facilitate fair ones, or help ships with not much too trade. Now…there's no one handling that. And without that…things are going to get ugly. Not today, and not tomorrow…But down the line…"

I shook my head as my voice trailed off again, and then continued.

"I need you—this ship—to set up a new distribution and trading network. I need you take those supplies you have, start getting them out to the fleet. I know you know about trading…what with your booze trading operation. If a ship has something to trade you back for what they need, make the trade, then trade what they gave you with another ship that needs those. I want to see the supplies moving in an out of this ship, 24/7. And if a ship has nothing to trade you, and the goods are essential…I want you to give it to them. Or make an unorthodox trade—whatever they can give."

I paused for a moment, and took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself to seal the deal.

"I told you, back there, that I couldn't help my people anymore. But maybe I still can. But I can't do it alone."

He stood, took a step away from me, and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the crates, and…chewing on his thumb. I ignored the latter: Everyone has their own bizarre habits, under stress. You learn that quickly enough, living on—or rather HAVING lived on—Colonial One. Indeed, a few seconds later, he turned back to me, arms still crossed, but thumb nail no longer between his teeth.

"We have enough rations to keep us going for nearly two years. We could maybe keep some of the smaller ships going for a couple more weeks...but after that, I don't know."

He still didn't understand. Not that I had expected him to, immediately. He was, naturally, used to doing things on a small scale, a "trade for something and keep what you traded for" scale, and for his ship only.

"That's why, whenever possible—and it should be, in most cases—you're not just going to give it all away. You're going to trade, like I know you all can, very well. And you're going to make sure you trade for things other ships need. Then, you're going to trade those things you received to the ships that need them…in return for the things other ships need. If you do it that way…You won't run out. Your supplies will jump start the process…but they won't be the only ones flowing through here."

He turned away once more, staring again at the crates, and after a few moments, turned back to me…A small but genuine smile on his face. He sat back down on the bench again, and this time, he met my eyes without hesitation.

"I see what you're saying. We can jumpstart everything again, at least for a while. Something this big will have to be cleared with Stengler, but I think he'll go for it. Who else is gonna do it?"

Who else, indeed? Even he, with his experience now in trade, had taken awhile to see the system, to see the plan, even once I explained it. I knew that, if not for my position—FORMER position—I never could have seen it, either.

"No one else. Because…No one else would even realize the need."

Now it was my turn to bow my head, and shake it.

"He didn't know what he was doing, when he took us down….all of us. Maybe Adama would have thought about supplies, to the rest of the fleet…Though I doubt even that, based on their agreement: Military decisions to him, all else to her. But Tigh? No, never. And the other ships…Understandably, they are all like yours…They trade for themselves, they think of themselves, and they try to stay alive another day. It's all you can do, in a situation like this. But I need to do more than that."

I rose, and stared at the crates, then turned back to him.

"Your captain is asleep by now, isn't he?"

He suddenly rose as well, to stand side-by-side with me, staring at the crates, a new energy in his face, as in mine.

"Yeah, we'll have to run it by him in the morning. My morning meeting with the flight crew is at 0630, before breakfast."

I reached forward, shook his hand, as I was conditioned by now to do when sealing a deal, and then stepped back slightly.

"I'll see you then. Stop by on your way up, and I'll join you."

I lingered a moment of two longer, then, leaned in, brushed my lips gently against his in a brief kiss, and turned to leave.

"Goodnight."

I walked away then, and out of the cargo hold, back the way I had come, leaving him there alone. I knew what faced him now, tonight, and it wasn't easy. All I could do was leave him to it in peace, and be grateful he had more than five minutes of solitude in a transport liner bathroom to accomplish it.

As for what faced me… She was gone, locked up in Galactica's brig and held by a madman who would shoot people for his morning cup of coffee. Billy was gone, on that same ship, probably in that very same brig by now. The rest were locked away on Colonial One, no one in, no one out, and no signals, either. I could only hope that someday we would be reunited, but I had to also face the cold, hard truth: I would probably never see any of them again, in this life, nor see the day when I could show my face again in the fleet as a whole without fear of being shot, or being hauled off to join them. I was all alone, now, politically, professionally. But the damning irony was...thinking about the moment when he had kissed me, a few hours ago, or when I had kissed him back, just now…that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't all alone personally, for the first time since the bombs fell.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't know how she did it, but Diana was crisp, alert. The same suit that hung disheveled on her last night, when she thought about ending it all, adorned her willowy frame now as if it had just returned from the cleaners.

Sleep came grudgingly the night before. The weight of grief and expectation, the pressure of being thrust into leadership, and wondering why Caff picked me, left my eyes open, staring at the bedsprings of Toby's bunk above me.

Oh yeah, and I kissed her.

Sensory overload left me feeling like I should have at least tucked in my shirt as I yawned over my cup of black coffee.

Her burgundy lips turned upward in a slight grin, as she brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face.

"You look like I feel, Jay."

"Well, I wish I felt how you look, although I doubt I'll find a suit in that cut that'll fit me."

She tilted her head, brow furrowing.

"Not likely. Are we meeting with just the Captain or the entire command staff?"

"The cap'n and Jeffers," I said, before sucking in some java to kick-start my synapses.

She stood watching me for a moment, before I realized that I had to lead her to CiC, and she knew it.

"Oh, okay. Let's go. But you need to do most of the talking. I'll jump in when you need a hand."

For the first time ever, I sat in the flight crew's break room as Caff did for so many years before me. I had empirical evidence that Milt Jeffers did indeed look freshly pressed 24/7, and that Stengler would always look as if he rolled out of bed ten minutes ago.

We left Moore and Mitchell to run the boat as we mapped out the day, and I pitched Diana's plan.

"The Secretary approached me last night, and came up with a plan to fill the ration void and continue trading on some level, until Galactica gets supply lines moving again."

I nodded to Diana, and hoped she was thinking more crisply than I. It was her job, after all. I was still feeling my way around mine. I thought of the blank stares I received the night before from the guys--my guys--who wouldn't have to wake up for another thirty minutes.

She commandeered a few sheets of New Castle Freight stationary and a pen from my quarters.

Secretary Thalyka cleared her throat.

"As you may know, in addition to trade between ships, rations are dispensed to ships by the government—especially to smaller ships unable to make enough trades to feed their people. In addition, of the trades that occur, many—although not nearly all—", she said with a tense but knowing smile "—are facilitated, or at least monitored and encouraged, by the government as well. However, with Colonial One out of contact, and the Quorum of Twelve dissolved, that is no longer the case."

Stengler sipped his own coffee, looking at her, waiting for more.

"What she's saying is," I continued. "For a time, we can get the vessels with civvie shuttles to hook up, and send some of our excess rations, like the government stuff we've been stockpiling in the hold, out to some of the small liners, you know?"

The Captain nodded, as Jeffers pursed his lips, in seeming thought.

"Okay," Stengler began. "Let me see if I'm getting this. We basically feed the smaller vessels until…when? We don't know when Galactica will start up the supply lines. I mean, I think they will, but what if we go through all the MRE's and dry stuff? Ships will be expecting more, still, and then what will happen when the wrong people see our fresh goods rolling through the fleet?"

"To answer your first question, Captain, by no means do I expect you to go through all your supplies. If a ship has nothing, yes, supply them for nothing in return. But if a ship has anything to trade—anything at all, that they can afford to spare—make a trade for it. Preferably, for an item that another ship needs. Then, trade THAT item for something that ANOTHER ship needs, and so on. In that way, you will only jumpstart the process. You won't be the sole supplier, simply the hub, so to speak."

"Yeah, but what about what that's going to look like, with all those shuttles coming and going?"

"Your ship, Captain, already has a much greater volume of both incoming and outgoing trade than many other ships in the fleet. Given that, and the fact that you have yet to draw attention to yourselves, I would not expect a slight rise in volume of trade traffic to be cause for concern—or even for notice—aboard Galactica. After all, if they thought enough about trade routes and supplies to be tracking trade routes, they would be thinking enough to have set up a system already."

Jeffers nodded emphatically.

"She's got a point, Brad. We don't' really deal in anything essential, anyway, outside of sending the mechanics out, or occasional parts. Most of the goods we barter are liquor, tobacco, things like that."

Damn, she was good. I'd never seen Milt Jeffers agree with anyone.

"Besides," I interjected. "We're not the only ship with a good setup. I don't think it would put a dent in our dry stuff for over month, based on what we have in the racks. The vessels we'll be helping, even for nothing, really don't need much. And, correct me if I'm wrong, the big task would be to get the shuttle jocks from the luxury liner, the refinery, and the other big boys to make a deal to move the stuff."

Diana paused for a breath, then shook her head in affirmation.

"Pretty much—people will be eager to trade, if we can supply them with something they need. Getting things started will be the toughest part. Once everything is started, though, it should pretty much be a self-sustaining system."

Her eyes slid back over to Jeffers and Stengler, who rubbed his chin, as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, already.

"Okay," he said. "We'll try it for a week. Dry rations only, and no off-ship repairs until the climate's a little cooler out there. We lost one good man already. We don't need to lose any more. If we get any word--and I mean any word, Krenzik--that Galactica is giving us a long look, shut it down."

"You got it, Cap'n. I'll get the guys up top with Briar to stage everything."

"Right," Jeffers said, rising from his seat. "I'll tell Mitchell to drum up some shuttle traffic, and put the word out to the little guys. I'll have the schedule printed up for Maintenance and Briar in five minutes."

With that, Milt Jeffers was off to start the day.

"Thanks," I told Stengler. Diana stood, formally extending her hand, just as she did the very first time she stepped on the Lady a seeming lifetime ago.

He firmly grasped hers, shook.

"I hope this can work. But if it doesn't get others to do the same, we can't keep it up for long. Like it or not, we have keep our own house in order, first."

"It can work, Captain Stengler," she said, every syllable meaning it. "I'll make it work. WE'LL make it work."

Yesterday, she wanted to die. Now, she wanted to feed the fleet. Yesterday, I was waiting for Caff to come home, so he could tell us what to do next, and now, I was the one who ran Down Below. I was a little in awe of her, then. She could have let herself crumble under the weight of being the last member of the government who could do anything, even when her job didn't truly exist anymore. When I took the schedule out to the mechanics--my mechanics—I would have to do the same. Press on, or be crushed, and take others down with me.

I sat at the head of the breakfast table, in what was now my chair. Diana was seated to my left, where another guy who looked like me sat for years, doing what he was told. I passed the clipboard down, starting with Toby. I didn't have to worry about how to begin, as questions came at me with full force.

"Okay," Marty began, suddenly forgetting his biscuit suspended in sausage gravy. "Uh, why are we marking and staging all the dry rations?"

My throat felt exceptionally dry, as I sipped my water.

"Well, until Galactica gets the supply network up and running, we, with the help of civvies, are going to trade food for goods with all the smaller ships we can--"

"What about those that don't have nothing," Nick interrupted, his face already red. I don't know what I expected. Nick Sorg was the kind of person who would think all was right with the worlds if he was the only one left standing after a nuclear blast. He probably would have been happier being the last man alive on Libron, instead of working this tub and running from the toasters.

"Then, Nick," I told him, making sure I made eye contact. "We give it to 'em."

The clipboard changed hands, down the line, coming to Mike Briar, the shipping clerk. Bobby and Dan huddled around him to look.

"How long are we gonna be expected to keep this up," Mangan asked.

I wanted to look to Diana, to give her spin, but thought better of it. I could tell by the shift in mood after she sat down that it would be best if she were seen and not heard.

"We have enough dry stuff to last us three months. Most of it's going to the smaller vessels with populations the same size as ours or less. Since Adama's up and around again, there's no sign marines will be cutting into anyone else, so they'll want a supply line up ASAP. They need fed, too, and--"

"Who came up with this shit, anyway?" Nick rose from his seat, leaning on the table, glaring at me. I had hoped he would have waited to pull my punk card, but I wasn't surprised. He was at his toughest around an audience.

I almost stood as well, but decided I should play it cool. Even if it didn't feel like it, I was in charge. It was time to start acting like I was.

"As I was saying, Nick. They need fed too, and they will want to keep the natives from getting too restless and put on a happier face after the Gideon. If we draw the wrong kind of attention, we pull the plug. In response to your question, Secretary Thalyka approached me last night with the idea. Stengler gave his okay before Jeffers printed up the schedule."

Sorg's eyes slid over to Diana, and he shook his head. "This is bullshit." Diana's gaze locked firmly with his, and she sat a little straighter. Without a word, she seemed to tell him "that's the way it is."

I shrugged, feeling my face grow hot. He was definitely pulling my punk card now. The irony was, as just another mechanic, I could have gotten in his face the same way I did when he wanted to leave Galactica's pilot to die on that dead moon months ago.

"Maybe," I told him, fighting to keep my tone even. "But it's on the schedule. So eat up and get to it."

They all looked at me then, for an eternal moment, before forks and spoons dug into food once more.

Mangan was the first to leave, as he did every morning I worked with him. He popped a cigarette into his mouth, and headed for the FTL room in silence. Nick made a point to clatter his dishes loudly as he dumped them in the plastic tray at the end of the mess line. Plastic slammed against metal as he ditched his tray atop the trash can, before he followed Coursen, Marty, and the fork lift guys out to the cargo hold. At least I hoped he would. I suddenly became aware of our 9mm semi-autos in our shoulder holsters, and the assault rifles sleeping on their racks near the firing range, waiting to cut loose. Was Nick Sorg all talk? What about the others, who quietly followed along? If a person doesn't like something, he either leaves it alone, or eliminates it.

Toby, the only one left besides Diana, put up his tray, paused at the double doors.

"Look…Jay. I respect you, okay? But this is a bad idea. I mean, shit. If they see us, they're gonna see her. And she's public enemy number one to them--"

"Then we just have to know when to pull the plug, right?"

My welder looked to Diana as if in apology, then to me again. I leaned forward, resting on my elbows.

"Right, Toby?"

He gave a slight nod and was gone. I rubbed my temples, and sighed.

"Well, that was an unmitigated disaster. So much for rallying the troops."

Diana slid her chair closer to me, laid a hand atop mine.

"They're doing what you asked. That's not a disaster."

She knew how to work in a world of power and bureaucracy, but I felt like her naivete shined through here. I supposed it had to come with the fierce idealism she showed me that night on Cloud Nine.

I gently squeezed her fingers.

"For now. You'd never see that when Caff was here. Sure, if we didn't like something, we'd tell him, but Nick would never pull the shit he did during a morning meeting. I feel like I need eyes in the back of my head."

"Maybe you can get them in time, to see what we're trying to do. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but Nick doesn't exactly seem too popular with the rest of the men."

I laughed. She had a gift for understatement.

"Yeah, but he's normal to them. I've never been. He's not the most liked, but Ed Coursen's his best buddy. He does have some respect with the rest of the guys. When it comes down to it, he's just an asshole, not a bad mechanic."

"Look, if you think Nick is a lost cause, don't focus so much on him. Worry about the others--either Nick will come around in time, or he won't. As long as he does what he's told, that's all that really matters. And in the beginning, that's all you can ask for."

I shook my head. She knew what it was like to have leadership thrust into her lap, but this was different. She had structure, the Articles to fall back on. The only thing that backed up this ship was New Castle Freight, which now, presumably, was a pile of rubble. We were an island unto ourselves. Looking into her eyes and seeing the earnest resolve in her gaze, I couldn't feed her my gloom and doom--not all of it, anyway.

"I hope you're right, I really do."

"Obedience is given, and respect is earned. It's hard to step into being a leader. But I think it's probably hard too, to step into following someone new so abruptly. They obey you, now. Do well, and they will come to respect you as well."

"Well," I said, looking at the clipboard. "They also need to respect you a bit more. When we leave here, I'm firing up the still with Ed and Toby. You are going up to look in on the boys in the cargo hold. If you're more than just a suit sitting Up Top, they may not feel so nervous around you."

What I didn't tell her was that she would be a good barometer for how much some of those guys actually respected me. I had a feeling they knew there was something between us, no matter how small it was at that point. If they went so far as to give her shit, I'd know to sleep with my gun under the pillow.

II

When I entered the cargo bay, it was nearly as much a hub of activity as Colonial One, on any given day—the main differences being that the space was larger, less people were involved, and there was machinery involved—two large forklifts, dropping crates by the airlock, then going back for more. Two men—the young guy, Marty, and the ass, Nick—were standing by the crates waiting to be moved, checking things off on a pair of clipboards. A third man was standing near where the forklifts were working—with what must have been supreme trust in their drivers not to run him over—with another clipboard, looking back and forth from one forklift, to the other, to the men by the boxes. I ran a hand instinctively along my suit, smoothing it, and weaved my way through it all to the man—what was his name? Brisk…Bryce…Briar--That was it—who appeared to be overseeing things.

"How is everything going, Mister Briar?"

His head raised from his clipboard slowly, and he gave me a slight smile—the type of not cold but not warm smile that I myself had fixed on so many people, these last few months. It was, I have to admit, a bit odd, to have it shown to me, instead.

"It's going fine, Miss. Not a big deal, really. We just gotta find and check off the ration crates, then figure out how we need to break the stuff up once we get some calls."

"Excellent. Do you have any shuttles due to come in on your normal trade schedule that you could send things out on?"

"Well, no. Ever since the Gideon, there's no traffic. We'll get word when Jeffers either comes down to tell us, or gives word to Jay."

I made a mental note to speak to Jeffers—or Jay, or perhaps both—as soon as possible. They might be willing to wait for some mystical word from above, but I knew that there were many people out there, in the fleet, who couldn't afford that.

"Understood."

I paused, casting my eyes around the cargo bay.

"Mind if I look around for a moment, Mister Briar?"

"Go ahead, but make sure you watch where Dan and Bobby are going, they sure as hell don't," he replied, focusing once again intently on the papers before him.

They didn't? He knew they didn't, and he still was willing to stand out here?

Shrugging off my questions over his sanity with regards to being willing to stand in the path of huge machinery, I walked over to where the crates were being piled up. I spent a moment or two looking them over and then started over to where Marty and Nick were checking off the other crates before they were moved. About halfway there I noticed that Nick had his eyes locked on me, and probably had for some time. He was leaning against one of the crates, clipboard hung at his side. I admit, I probably—definitely—looked out of place in the cargo bay. The look in his eyes wasn't confusion, or interest, or even the fear or disagreement which I saw in some of the other eyes around me. No, the look in his eyes was something that—for all the anger, fear, and insanity that had been in eyes that faced me these last few months—I had never before had fixed upon me: Pure, unmitigated hatred. I suppressed a shiver, and it was all I could do to continue walking towards them.

"How are things going, gentlemen?"

Marty looked up, grinned a little. It seemed forced, like Briar's had.

"It's going okay, it's all pretty much MRE's and instant stuff. We just gotta put everything in categories."

"Speak for yourself, Marty," Nick began. "I still have some, um, problems with all this."

He walked toward me, tapping his clipboard on one of his meaty thighs. I remembered Jay telling me he had actually gotten into a fistfight with this man just last week. He was short, not quite my height, but he was broad-shouldered, muscular—and, frankly, mean. For the moment, I decided to ignore him, speaking once again to Marty.

"Good. With any luck, we can start moving some of it out by the end of the day."

"I see you got this all planned out, huh," Nick asked me, as he made a point of it to move back into my line of vision.

As much as I didn't want to, I made a point to meet his eyes again, my own gaze hard, as it had been earlier that morning.

"Yes, I do. I would never have proposed it if I had not."

He tilted his head to one side and sneered. "So you got a plan for when Galactica kicks down our door? When they tear through here lookin' for you? I sure wouldn't wanna get the way of 'em. We already lost our boss."

I wanted to flinch away from his gaze, not so much because of him, but because of the reminder, once again,of what had occurred several days before. He had a right to feel whatever he wished over the loss of his boss. And he had, whether I might agree with his views or not, a right to hold whatever views he wished concerning my presence here. He did not, however, have a right to speak to me in the manner in which he currently was...and however much I might like to let that comment slide as well, to avoid a confrontation, I knew I could not. Respect is earned, I had told Jay shortly before. But respect is also conditional: If you do not demand it…few, if any, will give it to you. And if you allow others to mistreat you…you may end up losing the respect of those who previously had granted it to you as well.

"That, Mister Sorg, is your prerogative. If, for some reason, Galactica chose to board this vessel, it would make very little difference to me whether you chose to fight, to hide, or to do nothing. We must all make our own decisions. However, I do not believe you should be speaking to me in that manner."

In the corner of my eye I saw Marty looking up at us, and was suddenly aware that the constant hum of the forklifts had ceased.

He chuckled, mocking me. "Well, I don't believe you should even be here, but you are, ain't you."

Enough was enough. That was even further across the line than before. I fixed my hardest stare on him, the kind I had seen President Roslin give these past few months, to those who in the initial days after the bombing, or the chaos directly after it, forgot who and what she was and the respect—or at least courtesy—her position demanded they accord her.

"Yes. I am here. And barring the repeal of the illegal declaration of martial law on the part of Galactica, I am here to stay. You don't have to like it, Mister Sorg. You don't have to agree with it. But you do have to accept it. And you don't have to like me, or even to respect me. But you do have to treat me with the courtesy to which I am due. Because as I recall, your captain did not take a vote on the issue."

"Well, the way I was brought up, you don't go around bossin' people around in their own house. And this ain't your house, is it? You should just be happy to be here. You're causin' us trouble."

Behind us, Briar's voice called out before I could so much as open my mouth in reply.

"Hey Nick, Krenzik wants this stuff done before lunch so---"

Nick, for his part, looked over at Briar, and shouted back.

"Just mind your business, Mike! Me and the uh, Madame whatever are talkin'."

Among others, it would have been forgetfulness, unfamiliarity with proper titles, or simply too much stress to bother. But the way he formed his words, the tone of his voice—especially his emphasis on the word "whatever"—told me his errors and omissions were deliberate. When Briar did not immediately respond, I gathered myself, met his eyes once again, and spoke to his earlier comments:

"I assure you, I am indeed very happy to be here. And I do realize the difficulties this may impose upon your ship and crew, and am doing—and will continue to do—my best to mitigate them. But as far as your comment about this not being my house is concerned: As a matter of fact, Mister Sorg, I do believe this—and every other ship in the fleet—IS my house, after a fashion. And you would do well to remember that."

"Man..." He shook his head, and sneered in contempt "You got Krenzik wrapped around your frakkin' finger, dontcha?" Then he leaned in, far too close, until he was no more than a few inches from my face. "I don't want your ass on this ship. Never did. You better stay outta my way."

Life on Colonial One had robbed me of any sense of personal space I had had prior to the destruction of the Colonies. However, this, like the captain who had nearly slugged me during the water crisis, was different. His body language, and the way in which he leaned in, spoke of a clear threat and an intent to intimidate. I wanted to back up, but that would have been letting him get away with it. There was only one man who would be backing up here, and it was going to be Nicholas Sorg. Rather than backing up, I leaned in that final inch myself, before responding. The fear clawed at me, as it had so long ago facing the enraged captain, but I ignored it, and somehow, to my own surprise, managed to keep my voice not only level, but authoritative and cold.

"I suggest you step back, Mister Sorg. I don't believe your captain would be pleased to learn of this exchange. It would be much more convenient for both of us if it remained between us, don't you agree? So. Step. Back. Now."

He didn't move, initially, just standing there, his eyes full of even more rage than before….and a great deal of shock as well. But after a moment or two, he whirled, and threw his clipboard to the deck. It landed with a loud, harsh "CLANG!" against the metal of the deck, and he stormed off. And if anger had been a weapon, the sheer amount in his stride as he exited the cargo bay would have been enough for us to defeat the entirety of the Cylon race.

Briar shouted after him, ""Hey! Nick! Where you goin'?", and without turning, or even pausing, Nick angrily shouted back an excuse: "I gotta shit!".

Trying to maintain my composure, I turned back to Marty, then to Briar, and nodded at them both.

"Looks like you're doing an excellent job, gentlemen. By all means, carry on."

With that, I, too, exited the cargo bay, careful to walk slowly, calmly, purposefully, even though what I wanted to do was run from the room and slam my fist into a bulkhead, Once I was out of the cargo bay, the hatch closed behind me, I began to move more quickly, as quickly as my feet would carry me without running. I needed to get back where there were people—anyone else. It wasn't much safer, I was beginning to think, for me to be alone in a corridor with Nick around than it would have been for me to have stayed aboard the Gideon. Because Nick Sorg was bad news—worse news than even I had first assumed.

I was about halfway back to CiC—where I had been planning to head, just to not be alone, with Nick around—when I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Even though I doubted it was mealtime (and on a ship like this—like all ships, now—mealtime would be set and limited), I headed to the cafeteria anyways, hoping that perhaps I could at least snag a sandwich, or a pack of rations.

When I entered, I looked around for Lina or Neil, and finally spotted Lina by the sink, surrounded by a pile of dishes. I waited a moment or two, thinking she would have heard my footsteps, but finally, realized she must not have noticed my entrance.

"Excuse me, Lina—"

She turned then, and I continued.

"I'm sorry to bother you—I know lunch isn't supposed to be until later—but would it be possible for me to get a couple of slices of toast, please?"

"Hmmm...well, okay. I'm takin' my break anyway in a minute, so sit tight. I'll fix you up something."

I took a seat at the table, and a few minutes later, Lina appeared, carrying not one but two plates of food—and not just toast, either. She set one of the plates in front of me—on it was two pieces of toast with jelly, as well as a couple of sausages, and what looked like reconstituted scrambled eggs. To my even greater surprise, she then took the other plate, and set it down on the table as well, taking a seat directly across from me. Both of us ate in silence for awhile, until I had finished. I was still unable to hold myself, in the wake of going so long without food, to the polite and leisurely eating habits which had been instilled in me since childhood.

"Thank you, Lina."

She looked up from her own plate, then, and her eyes seemed to sweep over me, before finally lingering for a few seconds on my face.

"It's okay, you're lookin' a little peaked. Besides, Nobody really comes back here to talk to me, except Neil back there, unfortunately. And the food ain't never that good to stick around. So, what's on your mind? "

I hesitated a moment, unsure of whether I should bring up what was truly on my mind with anyone. Finally, however, I spoke.

"They don't like having me here. I can tell... because they go so far as to practically say so. At a meeting today, one of them turned to Jay and mouthed off about me. And the way they look at me, and speak to me...or in some cases, the way they don't speak to me. And just now, in the cargo bay…"

I paused, then took a deep breath and continued.

"One of them—the same one as was mouthing off earlier this morning—he was mouthing off to me again, criticizing me, my orders, my plan they were carrying out, everything. When I tried to tell him it wasn't really appropriate, he went off the deep end. Told me he didn't think I should be here…told me I don't have any authority here. And when I tried to remind him that I did…he just got in my face, with hatred in his eyes, and the things he said got even worse."

I paused again, trying to calm myself, finding I was having a harder time holding it together now, as I recounted everything, than I had had when all of it actually happened.

"…and none of the rest did anything about it. When he finally got out of my face, it was because I made him…no one else so much as lifted a finger or spoke a word against him, the entire time."

She nodded, slowly.

"Yeah, they hate ya."

"Why?"

"Well, I don't think anybody wants to throw you to the wolves--I think. But you're on the run, and they're scared."

"Most of them, maybe. But I was on Colonial One, when Galactica's marines boarded. And I was out among the fleet, during the water crisis, and on the Gideon before the marines stormed her. I know what fear looks like, what it causes people to do, or not do. And for some of them...particularly one of them…it isn't fear, at all."

After a moment, she leaned forward, and gestured with her hand to indicate I should do the same. Still somewhat mystified, I nevertheless leaned in close. When she spoke again, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"They don't tell me shit. But they think I'm deaf sometimes when they come an' grab coffee."

As if I was not already confused—and surprised—enough, she suddenly reached out, then, and grasped my hand in hers.

"Remember this, if something happens. The Cap'n don't really run this boat. Never did. The boys down below, the knuckledraggers have always run it. Jimmy Caffrey ran it, and Jay has gotta run it. I can tell ya right now it don't sit well with him gettin' the job. They're scared, and scared people do crazy things."

That, I knew all too well, many times over, after these last few months. And despite my best efforts, when I spoke again, a touch of the fear and uncertainty I felt had creeped into my voice.

"You said, they say things, when they think you don't hear. What did they say?"

She looked over her shoulder, even though she must have known there was no one else in the room—the same type of paranoia I exhibited when it came to the press—and then turned back to me once more, her voice now barely audible.

"It might be nothin' but Nick Sorg--the stumpy guy--and Jay don't get along--heard they got into a fight playin' pyramid last week--and they was goin' at it it like dogs in a pit. Never liked each other to begin with. And Nick don't trust nobody 'cept Nick. Never did."

I thought back, to the way he had treated me, and the way he seemed to treat the others.

"Yeah, he doesn't seem to like anyone. And he seems to hate Jay. But…he seems to hate me a whole lot more."

Even now, I couldn't make sense of it all—Jay was the one who'd been in a fight with him, the one who he didn't think should be foreman. I had done nothing to him. And it wasn't even fear on his part. Because the look in his eyes, when he looked at me, wasn't fear, like the look in the other men's eyes when they laid eyes upon me. No, his gaze held hatred, and contempt.

"He never trusted government, even before the bombs dropped. Now he sees his new boss, a guy he hates, makin' him run your plan. Eddy Coursen don't like you either, 'cause he goes along with Nick on everything."

Wonderful. No wonder he had made that comment, in the cargo bay, about me having wrapped Jay around my little finger—it must seem, given his views, to be an alliance of his worst enemies.

Before I could say anything in reply, however, Lina shook her head, and continued.

"Everybody don't know what to make of you, but those two think you're gonna bring Galactica crashin' down on us. An' when Nick don't like something, he likes to take matters into his own hands, or so I hear."

The Colonies had been destroyed. Everyone I had ever known, everything I had ever known, had died, or been destroyed. Everything but the government, the Articles, the people, and my duty to them. And then, so abruptly…they—and nearly everyone I had come to know since the bombs fell—had been gone too, with Adama's coup, and Tigh's declaration of martial law. I had thought I was safe, on Colonial One, after the destruction of the Colonies, only to have Adama arrest the President. I had thought I was at least somewhat safe, after that, only to have Tigh declare martial law. I had thought I was safe on the Gideon, only to have Galactica's marines storm her…and someone die, for me. And I had thought I was safe here…Only to now discover this. I couldn't help it, now—even as shame and anger at myself for doing so washed over me, I leaned my elbows against the table…and lowered my head into my hands.

Suddenly, I felt hands, rough and worn like my grandmother's had been, grip mine, forcing me to lift my head, and look into her eyes. All I wanted to do, even in this moment was to hide my face, and look away, before I gave anything away…before I broke my decorum any more than I already had. But her grip on my hands prevented that, and I found I could not stop the words that came out of my mouth.

"I…I really thought we had a chance. I thought—I guess we all thought—that we could guide everyone to safety. Protect them from the Cylons. When we heard, what had happened on he Colonies, and later, when we learned Adar was dead…it all happened so fast. She took the oath of office, then we all took ours. And all that time, we never had time to think, to think we were a broken government, over a broken, shattered people. Because we couldn't afford to think that—we had to be better than that, believe we were better than that, believe we were more than that—that we were real, as real as Adar and his Cabinet on the Colonies, and that those ships out there were the Colonies, as real as Caprcica, and Libron, and all the others. But maybe we should have stopped to think. Because we just pressed on, like we had to—tried our best—but never realizing the mistakes we made, in all the chaos. Never realizing it, until it was too late. Because I guess maybe we weren't as good as our predecessors, back on the Colonies. Because this didn't take the Cylons. We did this to ourselves….we did this to our people."

"This ain't nothin' new. The Cylons, during the first war, raided Libron for iron ore. They bombed us--hard! When they left, it took days for the Fleet to send help. People were tearin' at each other, even then! You stuck with somebody you trusted. So you stick with Jay."

Her response made it clear she hadn't understood what I meant. Or perhaps, she had, and had chosen to ignore it. If the former, it was only understandable—everyone views things through the filter of their own experiences, and she was unlikely to know how to respond to the dilemmas of leadership and statesmanship I had just posed, anyways. And if the latter, then I supposed I was grateful to her, for ignoring the words I should never have let slip past my lips.

All I could do, at that moment, was nod in reply. I let no words slip past my lips, lest they betray me, as my last words had.

She rose, then, and started walking back towards the kitchen, then paused, and turned halfway, looking over her shoulder at me.

"Oh, and don't think I don't see the goo-goo eyes you two been makin' at each other..."

I opened my mouth to reply—unable, this time, to stay silent, no matter what I worried my lips would produce—but before I could so much as utter a syllable, she had turned away again, and resumed her brisk walk towards the kitchen, shouting.

"GODSDAMMIT TO HELL, NEIL! WE GOTTA START LUNCH ANDTHIS FLOOR AIN'T MOPPED YET AN' THE DISHES AIN'T DONE!"

III

The miners were the first to answer the call. They were interested in freeing up a shuttle to carry provisions out to the smaller vessels, for five cases of homebrew this week. After that, I would have to meet with their chief of maintenance to hash out a deal for anything beyond that.

Toby grimaced, as he gave me a second opinion on the last test shot before we started case number one. The stuff was one step below solvent, but drinking it wouldn't hurt you.

We adjusted the mix, and let the still go to work. My welder (a day would come when I would get used to saying that) stayed quiet as we worked, doing his job, the silence thickening incrementally. I didn't know what to do. Should I prod him, or let leave him to his thoughts? He told me where he stood already, more or less. I had a feeling it wouldn't make any difference that I felt just as lost as they did, except I was the one who was supposed to lead them. I went with my gut, on this one. I hated uncomfortable silences.

"What's on your mind, Toby," I asked him, as we sat two stools pulled out of the shop. I lit a smoke, and extended my lighter over to ignite his.

His blue eyes held on me for a moment, as he puffed the cigarette to life. He sat back, shrugging.

"What isn't," he said, shaking his head. "Not even a week goes by and everything's down the drain. Caff's dead, no government, and I just got this sick feeling about what we're doing."

"Toby, like I said, we'll pull the plug if we get any heat--"

"Yeah, but…." He stared at the floor, flicked his ash.

"But what?"

"Well, I know you got a thing for her. And…"

"And you think I'm letting that cloud my judgment?"

His look answered for him. I was on an island in all this. Before the nukes hit, the Captain, Jeffers, and Caff were backed by the whole authority of New Castle Freight. We were basically our own little colony. Eliminate the Colonial government, and the Lady of Libron II was a floating city-state. Martial law tended not to concern itself with anything beyond having the military's needs met. We were all alone until they wanted something.

I had more power than Caff ever did before the bombs dropped, and I was the only one who could really enforce it. No HR department planetside backed me, and no one was an employee any longer. We were all in this for survival, and a cut of whatever we could trade for. What would stop anyone who felt cornered?

Toby sighed.

"Come on, man," I said. "Tell me what you think."

"Well, I do think so, a little. I think her little trip around the fleet put the zap on her head. And I know the other guys do too."

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, I didn't need you to tell me that but--"

Mangan waltzed in, sauntered up to the spigot that jutted out from the tanks with his tin cup.

"Got a deal with the miners, huh?"

He poured out a shot, and coughed a little, after taking it down.

"Yeah," I told him. "Five cases, to run a shuttle for this week."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ted Pomeray's their maintenance guy. You gotta deal tough with him. He delivers, but he wants a lot. Got it?"

I nodded, resisting the urge to avoid his gaze. My gut still couldn't tell me that he was my subordinate now. Before he left, Mangan turned back to me.

"Oh yeah, your lady friend, the secretary, is up on the catwalk, lookin' for you."

As soon as Mangan was out of earshot, Toby leaned close to me.

"Caff always looked out for us, first. You gotta show everybody that you're doing the same. You know what I mean?"

I nodded. "I know. And I am. Just keep an eye on the still. I'll go see what she wants."

Diana stood with both hands clasping the railing, near the hatch to the mess hall. Her face looked almost as white as the blouse she wore under her suit jacket. The hopeful side of me prayed it was just because of her recovery from exhaustion. She met me at the top of the ladder.

"We need to talk, Jay."

After leading me to my quarters, ignoring my questions about what and why, she told me to shut the hatch. Diana sat at the table, and gestured for me to do the same. I felt a surge of what Toby must have been, then. Last week, Caff sat there berating me for fighting Nick in the cargo hold. Last night, I sat with Diana hoping I could convince her not to end it all. I sat with Diana at this table and felt her crush against me, sobbing. Now, she was all business, but I could see in her movements, in her eyes that she was worried, and maybe afraid.

"Okay now--"

"Keep your voice down, Jay," she hissed. "Walls have ears. And never more so than when you think that they do not."

I nodded, gestured for her to go on.

"Alright, why the cloak and dagger? Would you like me to turn on the shower, just in case the room's bugged?"

Ever since breakfast, I tried to think of what Caff would do. How was he able to juggle all our different personalities and keep us on task and out of each other's hair? I never felt like he was doing anything special. He was just being Jim Caffrey. I had no idea if these guys really trusted me, and now I was dragged into a secret meeting with Madame Secretary.

Her face hardened for an instant but she ignored my retort, and dove right in.

"Remember how you told me to go check things out in the cargo hold? Well, I did. And things were going great. But while I was there...one of your men threatened me."

My face grew hot. On a gut level, I wanted to protect her, and on all other levels this was bad news as well. Already I could see this plan unravel--before we even made it to lunch. The fear she tried to contain bled through now. I had an idea who would have the balls and the lack of brains to stick his anger out in front of her. My jaw tightened as I forced myself to keep my delivery calm. She was scared enough already.

"Let me guess. Nick?"

She nodded raptly.

" I went over to where he and Marty were checking off crates. He said he had problems with this. I tried to ignore him. He pushed harder, testing me...I tried to reply reasonably."

"There's no reasonably with Nick."

"So finally, he started talking about him not wanting to be in the way "when Galactica comes for me", and a couple of other things. I told him I didn't care what he did if Galactica showed, that it was--that it was not his problem."

Her cheeks reddened, and I let her go on, hoping the release would calm her enough that I could ask her what I needed to. I tried to picture Caff listening to his various knuckledraggers over the years. How many times did he sit at this very table and have to deal with shit like this? The answer was never. He didn't have an escapee from the deposed government hiding from a battlestar as I did. I nodded as she continued.

"I politely reminded him that perhaps he shouldn't speak that way to me--but he just wouldn't quit, even then. Told me he didn't think I should be here, 'but you are, ain't you'. I told him I was, and that I was here to stay, until I can go elsewhere safely."

Her nostrils flared, and the tendons stood out on her long neck stood out as her words started to run together.

"Diana, slow down, okay? Now go on, but just take it easy so I can keep up."

She shook her head, sighed.

"I tried to be reasonable--told him he didn't have to like it, or like me, or agree with it, or respect me, but that he did have to treat me with courtesy. And then he totally lost it. Told me 'The way I was brought up, you don't go bossing people around in their own house. And this ain't your house, now is it.' Told me I should feel happy just to be here--and that I was causing trouble for everyone. So I told him, I was happy to be here and I'm doing my best not to cause trouble. But that he would do well to remember that…"

She felt her voice crack and Diana paused, her requisite decorum hanging on the edge. She didn't realize just how out of her element she was. Even if she wasn't our fugitive in residence, most guys like Nick--like us--didn't take kindly to suit-clad strangers who entered our world, eyed us with scrutiny. In this new age, though, there were no societal barriers preventing a guy like Nick from showing his ass in front of someone like Diana.

"Go on," I told her. And boy did she.

"He insulted me outright, and then insinuated I had you 'wrapped around my little finger.' And he leaned in, about two inches from my face, and told me 'I don't want your ass on this ship. Never did. You better stay outta my way.' I...I just leaned in the rest of the way, and told him to stay out of my way, that your Captain would not be pleased to hear about this. I had to tell him to step back two or three times before he finally did it. Then, he threw his clipboard to the deck and went tearing out of there like he was powered by Viper fuel. And none of your men did anything. None of your men even said anything."

Jay Krenzik the mechanic would have gone up to the cargo hold, found Nick and kicked his ass. I wasn't that guy any more. One thing I knew about leadership is that a good leader, whether he led an army, a Pyramid team, or a maintenance crew set the tone that filtered on down. The Lady wasn't a bad place to be in the New Castle fleet because Brad Stengler was laid back. If he was a ballbuster, Milt Jeffers would have gotten a nasty blanket party long before I ever signed on, six years ago. I had to figure out how to set my tone, and that started with trying to stop Diana's hands from trembling--because she couldn't.

Nick's words replayed in my head: "You better stay outta my way." I buried it, and felt as if I were trying to stuff all my anger and fear down into a pinhole.

"Now, take a breath. Just stay calm and--"

"I am calm, Jay."

Her glare was as sharp as razor blades reserved for Nick Sorg. I needed time to think and plan. Take my job out of the picture and Nick was basically threatening mutiny. I could go to Stengler. He could calm things down in the short term, but that would undermine the tenuous authority vested in me. Before I could open my mouth, she continued, actually sounding almost as serene as she needed to be.

"As calm as you are, at any rate. But, I was wrong, earlier, when I said you should try to ignore Nick. I thought he was just an ass, all bark and no bite. It seems that judgment may have been in error."

In error? Oh yes, that savvy understatement from the world of politics was back. I didn't know what to do. I needed time let my mind settle in on everything I just heard. I also needed let Diana feel a little safer when she left this room. I replayed what she said in my mind, searching for anything I could use.

"Okay. First off, this isn't Colonial One--"

"That shouldn't make any difference in the practice of civilized--"

"Diana, please let me finish. This isn't Colonial One. The guys probably didn't do anything because, well, it didn't come to blows. If he had raised a finger to hurt you, they would have tried to stop him. When he and I got into it last week, the moment we threw down, they piled on us to stop it. You got me?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. Good. She was deescalating a little. So far, so good.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken, Nick thinks this is still between you, him, and the guys in the cargo hold, right?"

She nodded again.

"Okay. That's good. That's excellent. That means we're one up on him already. We have a little while until lunch. We'll see how he acts then. But if anything else happens…"

I leaned forward, and tapped my finger on the table for emphasis.

"And I mean anything with him, you come get me. Don't go to Stengler, Jeffers, or anyone else. You come get me."

"And then what?" she asked.

I smiled, hoping it looked rueful enough. "Then I'll deal with it."

IV

'Deal with it'. He probably had no idea what he was going to do, even if it came to blows. Absolutely none. And I couldn't really blame him—I had no clue, either. It wasn't like this ship had a place to lock a man up, really. Or for that matter any manpower to spare, to make it feasible to do so.

"Right."

He didn't move even then, and I wondered if he expected me to say something else. Truth be told, I WANTED to say something else, starting with asking him what the hell kind of ship let people get in other people's faces two inches from their nose and use abusive language without someone intervening. Not Colonial One, indeed. But a ship shouldn't have to be Colonial One to observe the rules of common human courtesy that had been so common on the Colonies.

Or had they been so common? Were they actually as widespread as I had always assumed? Or had I simply never walked outside of the circles where they existed? It was a rather useless thing to wonder about, really. Either this behavior had been common enough in places like this before the bombs fell, as well as now, or it had arisen afterwards, from stress, or shock, or both. Either way, there was nothing I could do about it.

"Well, I really should let you get back to work, then. Gods only know your men must already think I take up enough of your time."

That one I could identify with, even if it was directed against me at the moment. Because everyone wanted to believe their leader was looking out for them, dedicating their time to them, especially in times like these.

"Don't worry about it. Even in the best of times we're worse than a bunch of old ladies at the salon."

I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, so I simply stood, and walked him to the door. As I shut it behind him, I made certain to bolt it. The men who had been in the cargo bay might have thought of the things Nick said and did as no big deal. I knew differently.

V

I channeled all my effort into digging my fork into lunch, barely glancing up as the gang filed in from the cargo hold and Down Below. How did I broach this and not tip my hand? I couldn't do that just yet, but I could gauge reactions with a simple question or two?

"How we going with the rations, Mike?"

Briar's eyes didn't meet mine, and he shrugged.

"Okay, we got it all out, now. Lists are almost done."

Nick looked up at me for a split second, then to Marty, who ate as if he didn't hear me. Yeah, they were nervous, and they followed our credo a little too well: "What's said Down Below stays Down Below."

So far, none of them felt confident enough to blatantly cross the line to my face. All of us carrying sidearms helped. I found myself wondering if I would hesitate, if it came down to mutiny. In less than 72 hours, it was coming to this. First, it was the Cylons. After that it was our own military. Would it end up being us? I didn't want to believe that we escaped only to tear each other apart in the void.

"Good job in the hold," I continued, trying in vain to neatly cut through the preformed boneless barbequed rib patty on my plate. "Cap'n says the miners'll have a shuttle docking with us around 1430. They'll be able to load up some of the rinkydinks for the month on one run."

Diana looked up from her meal, down the table toward Nick, Briar, and the others that were on crate duty, but as she spoke, she made a point to make eye contact with each and every one of my men.

"Thank you all, for the excellent job you've been doing. I know doing this for the fleet is asking a lot of all you, but those you help won't forget."

Godsdamn, was she good. Nick Sorg just kept on sucking in his lunch, but I could see a hint of gratitude, in Marty's eyes, and even Mangan, cracked a slight grin and nodded, as Toby, Ed, and the rest gave her a quick "thank you." The mood lifted a notch. I thought there was a chance that I could just worry about all of them giving me the finger instead of just straight up mutiny. It wasn't much, but at this rate I was willing to take anything I could get.

I couldn't hold onto that nugget of elation long. The double doors leading to CiC flew open, and in came Milt Jeffers. The last time he did that… the seat I sat in was far too empty.

"Alright everyone, scuttle the old schedule. As of right now, per Captain Stengler's order, all traffic to and from the Lady is cancelled until further notice."

In my years on the Lady of Libron II, bad news from the XO was never met with absolute silence, until now. There's no Earth, but we found Kobol. Now there's an Earth, maybe. Tigh was going to mow down everybody for tylium, coffee, and maybe some breath mints, if the mood struck him. Now he wasn't. Guess what? We're gonna feed the fleet! Oh! Wait! My bad! We're not!

Our XO was apparently as stunned as I was. If Milt Jeffers didn't have to tell us all to pipe down after one of his big new orders, then Libron was flat.

"Sometime in the last 36 hours, Laura Roslin, with apparent help from Captain Lee Adama, escaped Galactica, and, from an undisclosed location," he said, before looking to me.

Lee Adama was the Commander's son, Galactica's Commander of the Air Group. The old man was still bedridden, if reports were true. I saw things turning ugly again. Would Tigh risk another massacre? How many stars were in all the space around us?

Diana had stood upon the announcement, all smiles, gray eyes wide. I could tell, looking around the table, that everyone else had at least an inkling of what I was thinking. We were on the brink once again.

"The, uh, President also released a prerecorded message over the wireless." He picked up the phone on the wall behind him and gave Mitchell the order to patch it in from CiC to the mess hall.

I still don't quite remember all of it. I knew the last lines would resonate in my mind for the rest of my life, though. Diana's smile receded, and for a breath her face wanted to fall, but her Colonial One blank slate overtook her features at the last moment.

". . .it seems I have been chosen to help lead you to the promised land of Earth. I will not question this choice. I will simply try to play my part in this plan. At the appointed hour, I will give the signal to the fleet. All those wishing to honor the Gods and walk the path of destiny will follow me back to Kobol. It is there we will meet the Gods' servant with the Arrow of Apollo."

Screw politics. Laura Roslin was branching out. Not only did she believe there was an Earth, she was going to point the way!

Before we could assault Jeffers with questions, he raised both hands to quell us.

"Krenzik, get everyone on their standard maintenance routines. I'll want you back in CiC. There will be a meeting after dinner with more information and we'll go from there.

Standard maintenance was done weekly or if we knew we were picking up our stakes soon, before an impending jump. The only thing he didn't ask of us was for Mangan to spin up the FTL. It was a good move, really. Keep the grunts busy, until supper and give the flight crew time to breathe. I wished I had that luxury.

"You heard the man," I told the gang. "You know where to go. I'll be back down on the main turbine after the meeting."

I started for CiC, behind Jeffers, and Diana followed.

"Sorry, Miss Thalyka," Jeffers told her. "Crew only."

Diana's gaze faltered, but nodded as she straightened a little more.

"Mister Jeffers. I have no intention of interfering with the business of your ship and crew, nor any decisions you all may make concerning this matter. However, if this concerns the President, and by extension, the government…I should be a part of it. I need to be a part of it. Please."

The XO shook his head.

"Sorry, Miss Thalyka. This is the way the Captain wants it. Come on Krenzik."

She nodded, despondent, and I could feel her eyes staring at our backs as I followed Milt Jeffers back to CiC. She was our main source of information on Roslin, and I couldn't understand why Stengler wouldn't want her back there. Then I thought about what the President's jailbreak could mean. More viper patrols and marines were only a few clicks away from storming any ship. I silently hoped that they weren't thinking of turning her over. She was the only person left that I didn't have to care about, but did. I wondered then what I was capable of, if I was the one willing to commit mutiny.


	7. Chapter 7

"We discussed this," Stengler began. "Before bringing it to the rest of you, and, as a whole, we're divided. Captain Adama breaking Roslin out is, if what the Secretary says is true, is his second act of outright mutiny."

Moore and Mitchell both avoided my gaze at the word "divided." A layer of sweat formed on my forehead, even though I stood under an air vent. I had an idea where this was going, but I wanted it broken down for me.

"Divided, how? Are you saying you're not sure if we're going?"

Moore nodded. She almost never spoke during these meetings I was privy to with the khaki shirts. Jeffers' glare made her stumble upon her words as she began.

"Well… if we leave Galactica's umbrella, we're in trouble. Even armed ships in this fleet have only weak countermeasures, to keep pirates off their backs. We can't even hold off one raider."

Mitchell nodded as she spoke, and I could tell that the flight crew was divided right down the middle whether to join Laura Roslin at magic hour or stay. I wished Stengler would have used his authority to make a decision one way or the other, but it wasn't.

"So why are we basically doing a jump prep without calling it jump prep," I asked them.

"Because we're going to bring it to a vote after dinner whether we should go or stay. Galactica is already going ship-to-ship, starting with Cloud Nine. We have a couple days before they finish up, there. That's why we decided to cut off the portion of the message with the departure time," Stengler said.

I nodded, trying to remember I belonged there, that I had a right to speak my mind.

I wanted to go. Sure, Roslin sounded crazy, but the military was evidently unraveling. If the news was true, Bill Adama up and around again wasn't the beacon of hope I wanted it to be. Saul Tigh would have to still carry the load, for a while, any way. Military collapse could mean another Gideon, or worse. Time slipped away on us coming under Galactica's all-seeing eye. The President imploding seemed far less lethal, in the short term.

"Well, the gang Down Below seems divided, too," I began, trying to find a happy medium between sugar coating and honesty. "A lot has happened, and we still have some hot crates from the Prometheus, and enough firepower to make Galactica nervous--"

"And having Thalyka aboard makes us a prime target," Jeffers interjected. "It will undo everything we've built up, so far." I glared at him, and I let too much emotion show, evidently. "Since we gave our word to protect her, that's key in our decision."

Damned if we do, damned if we don't. We leave Galactica behind, we're possibly helpless until whatever end. If we stay, it could only be a matter of time until the hard eye of the military fell upon us.

"If they wanted her, Mr. Jeffers, they would have come knocking, already. If Roslin leaves, and we stay, we could be in the clear."

Stengler shook his head. "We all took high school history. It could be the worst thing in the world to stay, if Roslin and anyone else bolts with her. Thalyka would be the last of the old government, and a potential threat to martial law. She may not seem like much now, but she'll be the very symbol of everything that could tear the house down. If we're going to be her shield, we have to protect ourselves, too."

If? If? I had one hell of an "if" for Stengler. If he was the captain of this tub, he should make a decision. There wasn't New Castle's central office planetside, or the dispatch in orbit around Libron to make decisions for him anymore. Jeffers ran the daily operations, I ran the knuckledraggers and trade with his rubber stamp. He finally had to take decisive action, yet he was stepping out of the way.

The only thing that put my mind at ease was that all four of them were leaning strongly toward letting Diana stay, even though Moore and Mitchell weren't crazy about making the jump.

"So what are we gonna do?"

Stengler stuck out his chest a little, as if body language would cover his abundant lack of leadership. I almost wanted Jeffers to take over. Whatever he decided, at least he would tell us what was what. Then again, he was such an asshole, mutiny would almost be inevitable.

"We're going to meet after dinner, the entire crew, and we'll put it to a vote."

"A vote? But--"

"I don't want mutiny, Krenzik. And that's why you're not being told the departure time. You'll have plausible deniability if things get hairy."

"What? Why am I even there, then? If I'm running trade as well as upkeep and I'm supposed to be a part of this so-called team I--"

"Decision's been made. Tell your men. I figure them staying busy will make it easy enough to wait until 1900 hours."

All four of them stared back at me. They couldn't agree on staying or going, but they were sure of one thing. I needed to just shut my cakehole and follow orders. I had no choice but to be a good soldier. Telling them what I was thinking, about the lack of spine at the top would do nothing except knock me out of the loop, on which I hung by the very edge.

"You got it, Cap'n."

What would Caff do? He knew Jeffers longer, and there was more of a mutual respect between them. He could have been more up front than I--Mr. Foreman-Since-36-Hours-Ago. Once again, my experiences on this boat and elsewhere in my life gave no precedent, no path to follow. Nick Sorg was on the cusp of outright mutiny himself. Eddy Coursen was his complicit pal in nearly all things. Toby wasn't sure about me, any longer. Who the hell knew what Marty would do? Mangan was going with the flow, as usual, but who knew what he was capable of? Briar, Bobby, and Dan hung their heads, seemingly willing to go with the dominant opinion.

I looked back at each and every face that stood in the circle with me around the main turbine. The only thing I knew is that Nick hated my guts. Beyond that, familiar faces were strangers.

"So what time we leaving, if we do, Krenzik," Nick posited to me, stepping out a little from the rest. I had no idea just how much he was speaking for the rest of them. Mangan was my second, and I expected more out of him. Sometimes, even before the attacks, he was one to recede and wait for a right time to give his input--a time of his choosing.

I told him, and everyone else, the truth. "I don't know. Stengler's not coughing it up. Not to me, anyway. We vote on it after dinner."

Nick tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

"Would you tell us if he did?"

Everyone stared, anticipating, now. Beyond his question, I was basically being called a liar. Caffrey would never have gotten this treatment. Then again, he was gone before it came to this.

"Yeah, I would, Nick, if I was allowed. It's my engine room but it's his ship."

He sneered in return. "Your engine room, right…"

"If you," I began, sweeping my eyes over the rest of them. "all of you need to say something, just get it out, okay? More shit's gone down in the last week than in all the months since the bombs dropped. You need to unload, then unload."

Stone silence was my reply. I wiped the shit-eating grin off Nick's face, though.

"Okay, then. Back to work. Meeting in the mess at 1900."

Everybody rumbled in for dinner at 1800. Diana sat to my left, again, and she did her best to start casual conversation, asking Toby, me, or Marty about how the ship worked, etc. She was met with courteous, but strained responses, which immediately shifted back to faces staring at plates. Ed and Nick talked among themselves, with Mangan and Briar interjecting occasionally.

I told Diana about the plan, before we ate. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. Sure, she should have been in on that meeting, and yes, Stengler should have had more backbone. There wasn't a damn thing either one of us could do about it, though. We did agree on one thing: we thought we should leave. The longer we stayed in Galactica's shadow, the more dangerous it got.

I tried to remember that, and hoped the others did too.

Some of the guys returned down below to grab a smoke, before 1900 rolled around. After an eternity of minutes, we all sat before the flight crew. Everyone had one vote including the cooks, and the nurse. Sixteen of us, and I had no idea how the vote would end up. We all went with what would keep us safe first, but what was that these days?

"We're just going to cut to the chase," Jeffers began. "You heard it. We all did. And we are going to put it to a vote to stay, or join those that go to Kobol, and wait for the Arrow of Apollo to arrive. I know you have plenty of questions, but we need to decide, now. As you know, Adama has sent marines to Cloud Nine, to start with, looking for Roslin and his son. We may only have a week or so before they come here."

Everyone stirred, restless. We all had something to say. I fought the urge to look over to Diana. I was sure she sat up straight, with her chiseled Colonial One mask on, the one for all unpleasant occasions. Jeffers continued.

"We'll pass around a bucket and slips of paper. Write "yes" or "no" on it. And we'll count it up, right here."

Milt Jeffers didn't waste any time getting the paper and pens passed out. They wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. Ram it down our throats before we could think. Diana's eyes met mine, as the XO clearly didn't pass out either to her. Whatever would come, now, she had no say. She coolly stood, picked up her chair, slid it away from the table, and reseated herself--a tangible yet quiet show of her displeasure. She didn't have a voice here, but I did. Nick had no problem saying what he thought, why should I?

"Mr. Jeffers? Shouldn't we talk about this, first? If it's up to everybody, shouldn't we all be heard?"

I didn't expect any sort of reaction, but I wanted to smile, as my men looked to me.

"How long till Galactica gets to us," Mangan began.

Jeffers glared at me. Hell, I was part of the "management team" now. What was he going to do? Send off a memo to personnel?

"It could be a while," Stengler replied. "They just started on Cloud Nine. That could take as long as two days. After that, they'll most probably want to hit vessels where she has plenty of room to hide, like the luxury liner, or the refinery ship, should their crews choose to give the President safe haven."

Nick stood up then, he was almost giddy with the chance to let it out.

"Me an' some of the guys were thinkin', right? We gotta protect what we got here, so why don't we just turn over Miss, uh, Thalyka before they come over? It isn't like they're gonna kill her or anything."

Eyes wandered over to Diana, who lifted her chin, and regarded everyone with antiseptic decorum and cool. I stood, then, locked eyes with Nick.

"Sure, they may not…that's may not kill her. Even if they don't, she'll end up rotting in a cell indefinitely--"

"Hey, Krenzik, I don't know if you're thinkin' with the right head!"

I didn't think the room could get any quieter, but it did. The only thing breaking the silence was the hum of the air circulator and a low whistle that escaped Marty's lips. This made our fight on the Pyramid court look like paddycake. I had to tell myself that I was the boss, the foreman, so I could keep my voice calm and radiate the authority vested in me. Of course that didn't mean Nick or anyone else would see it.

"You got something to say, Nick. Flat out say it. This isn't the time for your song and dance shit."

He just looked at me for a second, regarding me as if I was a big strange dog in his yard who had yet to show his fangs, but didn't wag his tail either.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace, Sorg. Get it out, or sit down."

"Caff wouldn't stand for this shit, Krenzik! He always looked out for us first and you--"

"Caff's dead. I'd give anything to have him here. But he's gone. And don't you ever question my loyalty again. Good or bad, you're in my engine room. You don't like it, there's plenty of ships that'll take you on. Cap'n said she stays, so she stays. And that's what I say."

Everybody looked up at me now, if not to me. A surge of pride washed through me, if not happiness. For the first time, I voiced my newfound authority, and it was working. Nick looked to the flight crew in front of us.

"Hey, Cap'n," he grumbled, face flushed. "He can't tell me that shit he--"

Stengler just glared back as I cut him off.

"You're my guy, Sorg. If the Cap'n wants to tell me who to hire and fire Down Below, he can run it and the business end, too. I'll stay up here and suck back coffee all frakkin' day. Now secure that shit, and let somebody else speak."

His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides, but he finally sat back down. As soon as his backside returned to the chair, the room erupted in crosstalk and pleading questions to the warm body who was supposed to run this tub.

II

It was a madhouse—it reminded me of some of the worst Quorum meetings I had attended these past few months, or of the pandemonium on Colonial One, after they took the President away. Now, like then, no voice erupted to control the chaos—the chaos of a leaderless government, or in this case, a leaderless ship. Because that's what it was, really. From his slacking at the meeting I had attended, excluding me from the one I should have gone to, and his lack of response to this, Stengler had proven it at every turn. He was not fit to lead, and frankly, he did not lead, in anything more than name.

Those first few moments, all I could do was stare, the overlapping voices impossible to decipher, and serving here, as they had in so many other places, as the soundtrack of our doom. Slowly, though, it became clear that no one else—not even straight-laced Jeffers—was going to put an end to this, while Stengler sat silent, uninvolved.

This couldn't be allowed to continue. This wasn't going to continue. I vaulted up from my chair, and took several steps forward, raising and modulating my voice to be heard above the din.

"Please! People, please!"

They all stopped in mid sentence, then, within seconds, and turned to me, shock in their eyes and on their faces. Unfortunately, Nick chose that moment to open his mouth—again.

"So. You never answered me. Why don't we just turn you over, and be done with it?"

"Turning me over would change nothing for you, in the long run. You cannot delude yourselves into thinking you will be safe, simply for no longer having me aboard. Remember the Gideon."

"Gideon was Tigh's frak-up. Adama's back now."

"Yes. Yes, he is. And what has he done, since his return? Has he rescinded martial law, and reinstated the Quorum? Has he relieved Tigh of duty? Launched an investigation into the massacre that occurred? Even bothered to issue a statement apologizing about the Gideon? No. And what HAS he done? He started pulling ships out of the fleet, flying a CAP around them, boarding them, searching them, and separating them from the rest. Tigh is still on duty, with no apparent repercussions, and Adama is all too happy, it seems, to let Tigh continue that way….and let his decisions stand. Turn me over, and you might be safe for a day, a week, perhaps even a month."

I felt my hands move in the familiar gestures, emulating those who had the best in my field before the bombs fell. To my surprise, they listened raptly.

"But eventually, something will happen again. And unlike the Gideon, you will not have the hope of Adama's return, to provide solace then, and hope for the future. He has already proven, with his return and his actions and lack of them, that he is not what you hoped he would be, what we hoped he would be. Turn me over, and remain here…and he will defend you against the Cylons. But with Tigh still on duty, and Adama seemingly indifferent to what occurred…Who will defend you from them, that day in the future, when they decide you have something they want, or have done something to which they do not agree?"

I met as many pairs of eyes as I could, and was pleased to see Toby nod his head a little, and see something emanate from Milt Jeffers other than condescension.

"It's easy to turn a blind eye, when it is others who they come for. That it was only the President. That it was only the government, only the Quorum. That is was only the Gideon, only a search and quarantine of every ship in the fleet—But think about that! Each time, they dared take more, do more, disband or abuse more. And there is no reason to believe they will stop there. If you do not get away now…Who will be left to protect you, someday, when they come for you?"

I ended with my eyes fixed to the center of them, so that it might appear to each as if I were looking at them alone.

The blond man, with the tattoos, Toby, raised his hand, and I nodded for him to go ahead.

"Look, I know what you mean, right? I don't like it. At all." Then his eyes slid over, for a breath, glaring at Nick. "And I don't wanna see you in the brig, but what'll we do without a battlestar to protect us from the toasters?"

"The biggest question, Mister Dempsey, isn't what you will do without a battlestar to protect you from the Cylons. It is what you will do without anyone or anything to protect you from the battlestar. At least with the Cylons, they have to find you, first. Galactica, her guns, and her marines will be an ever-present shadow…and the day that shadow decides to envelop you, it will not have to seek you out, it will not have to find you, it will not be something you can run from. It will already be there. It will know your schematics, it will know your location, it will know your emergency jump coordinates. The greatest, most dangerous enemies are never from without…they are from within."

Another of them spoke, then—the man who had been smoking under the "No Smoking" sign, the first time I visited this ship, seemingly so long ago.

"You know, you been telling us we shouldn't stay with Galactica, but why the hell should we go with Roslin, either? Seems to me she's out of her godsdamned mind. I mean, all that Kobol and Arrow shit? A lotta Priests don't even believe in Earth. And how do we n know we're even going to Kobol?"

"I know we're going to Kobol, because I was privy to knowledge that it had been located. Knowledge that both the President and Commander Adama agreed upon, in fact. We found Kobol. That much I promise you."

"Yeah? So what if we did—Why should we go there?"

Excellent. I appeared to have steered him away from the 'insane President' line of thinking. Because I knew I couldn't really answer that one. Not when I too believed she was just as insane as they all seemed to be thinking. I thought for a moment about attempting to persuade them, attempting to gloss it over, pretend we might indeed find a way to Earth. But I couldn't. All I could do, I found, was lay it out straight for them…No lies. No half-lies. No sugar coat. All that I believed…All my own reasons. I made sure to look at each of them in turn. Let them see my eyes, my face, as I spoke. Let them see the mask fall, and know I spoke the truth.

"Because of what I just laid out, Mister Mangan. Perhaps there is an Earth to be found….Perhaps there is not. Either way…It is indeed Kobol. And there is safety to be found there, for at least for a time. More safety than you are likely to find now, or in the future, under Galactica's guns."

Most of the engine room crew just sat there, their expressions ranging from thoughtful to blank to annoyed (in Nick's case), though I thought I saw, for some reason, a smile pulling at the corners of Jay's lips. The flight crew looked fairly the same—every eye in the room was on me…but no one made a sound. After a few moments of this, I backed up, as gracefully as I could, and sat back down in my chair, pulled back against the wall, without so much as another sound of my own, either. They stayed silent like that for several moments following my departure, as well, until finally, their Captain (or what their excuse for a Captain was, at any rate) cleared his throat and spoke—finally.

"Alright, everyone. If that's it, then we vote. I'll count the votes myself."

He would count the votes. Well, no one could object to that, I suppose. After all, who better to fairly count the votes than a man who couldn't make a decision or form an opinion if the entire universe depended on it?

He nodded to Mr. Jeffers, who in turn handed a small plastic bucket to the nurse, Joe Pinklon, who passed it down, after depositing his slip. One by one, by put their folded pieces of paper into the bucket, like the Quorum had that day a few weeks ago, casting their votes for Vice President. Only this time there would be no President waiting to cast the tie breaking vote. Any tie here would result in chaos, chaos I strongly suspected they would be unable to reign in. And with tensions running so high, respect running so low, and loaded weapons in the possession of everyone except myself, would most likely turn to outright mutiny and a microcosm of civil war. And for that reason, as much as I found myself praying that they would choose to go….I found myself praying first and foremost that they would simply choose, one way or the other, and spare themselves that end.

Finally, the kid, Marty, deposited the last piece of paper, and brought the bucket forward, handing it over to Stengler in total silence, which continued as Stengler dumped the contents of the bucket onto the table in front of him, and began to read the papers and separate them into two piles. I kept my eyes focused sharply on his hands, although I had no idea which pile was which. One in that pile, one in the other, one in that pile, two in the other….Finally, he looked up.

"The decision is 9 to 7. Early tomorrow at the appointed time, we will jump to Kobol."

9 to 7. No tie.

Jump to Kobol.

I felt the tension slide out of my body like water off waxed paper. No tie. I was staying aboard. And she was free. And we were going to Kobol.

But just as quickly as it had left me, it returned. She was free, and we were going to Kobol. But she was insane…and I would be reunited with her, soon.

One by one, they stood, and filed out, starting with Stengler, Jeffers, and the flight crew, followed by the nurse, and then most of the engine room crew. Nick gave me a venomous glare as he walked past.

I waited until everyone else had exited (except for Lina and Neil, who returned to the back to finish the dishes), and stood, before noticing that Jay was still seated at the table.

"Well done, Madame Secretary."

So many things I wanted to say, in reply. Half of them—like my concerns about Stengler—which he most likely already knew. Not much I could say in public, though, so I simply shrugged slightly, and gave the only reply I could give without giving too much away.

"You all looked like a damn Quorum Session, you know. I guess it was instinctive."

Despite the joking tone I put into my voice, however, I was sure he could see through it, and my words, to what I really meant.

"You oughta see it when our meetings turn really ugly,"

Really ugly? They got uglier than that? Why, that was sheer chaos, screaming, rudeness, no decorum, no control, and no attempt to exert it! And here he was, saying they got WORSE than that?

I found I could say nothing in return, given our current public venue, and simply shook my head, instead, with a jerk of my chin at the start of the shake indicating the seat where Stengler had sat. He looked confused for a moment, but then, understanding suddenly crossed his face, as he looked from my face to the chair, and then back again.

"I get you. We should talk. Elsewhere."

I nodded my agreement, and gestured for him to go ahead of me, leading the way out of the mess and down the corridor. We walked in silence, until we reached the door leading to my current accommodations. I entered immediately, but noticed that he hesitated for a second or two before following, and hesitated again, before accepting my invitation to join me at the table. He stayed silent, even then, waiting until I spoke.

"He isn't a leader. You must know that, by now. Even when it all hangs by a thread, he cannot even summon the courage to silence his own men. And worse yet, no one will step in for him."

No except me, that is. But I didn't really count. Because I wasn't a member of the crew, here…And once we reunited with the President…I would most likely be departing this vessel.

He nodded, and finally spoke.

"I knew that years ago. He's not cut out for this, without the company to back him up. You have to remember, though, I run Down Below, but going against him means going against Jeffers, Moore, and Mitchell. They'll stick by him. You saw that with the whole vote mess."

"Yes. No one will raise their voice to stop or prevent a catastrophe, until he does. And he never will. And you all carry guns. The chaos I saw could have so easily erupted into violence, had it gone further. I just…I know, what you mean, about going against him, and the others. All I want you to remember is…"

I struggled to get my next words out. It was not tears that choked me, nor confusion…simply the fact that I did not wish to say it. Not aloud.

"This is a whole world gone mad. And the day may come when it hangs by a thread again, and no one will speak. When we jump to Kobol, I will most likely be leaving here to reunite with her. I won't be here to stop things, the next time they start to unravel. And if Stengler won't, and the flight crew won't, someone will have to, or lives will be lost. Even if it means stepping out of one's place."

"I'll protect my guys. This is about the only home we have, and if it comes down to it, we'll do what we gotta do. Everybody knows Stengler's not a strong leader. Why else would Caff have been running all our trade outta here, like I'm going to do if things ever cool off again? He's just been a rubber stamp ever since Bertrand got us going."

Suddenly, he leaned towards me, and fixed his eyes upon me.

"Why would you join Roslin once we're in orbit? No matter what you told them, you have to see that she's nuts."

Did I ever. I believed in her, once. Recently, even. I had believed in her like a starving woman believes in food, when they first sink their teeth into it. But now…How could I? I had seen it all fall apart. I had heard her message, the things spoken in it. And now, I didn't know how to feel. She was free…but she was insane. But insane or not, I had little choice. Because in the grand scheme of it all, she was less damaging, at the moment, to the people, to our society, than Galactica was. And because my oath swore meto the legitimate government of the Colonies…and if she was free, that is exactly what she was, once more.

"Of course I do. I mean…chosen of the Gods?"

I shook my head sadly.

"I've been protecting you ever since you came aboard, I can't let anything bad happen to you, now. We've...we've been through too much already."

The way he looked at me changed, then, and made me feel strange, though I could not quite figure out why, or how.

"Nothing is going to happen to me. Not once we get away from Galactica."

"The message she sent was from the Astral Queen—"

"Nothing is going to happen to me. Tom Zarek values his new power as a Quorum representative. Perhaps even moreso, now."

"Yeah, but come on. You can't trust Tom Zarek, especially on his turf. Say they get the arrow, and Zarek decides that he doesn't need Roslin around anymore? Where will that leave you?"

I shook my head again, and I could only wonder what the expression on my face must have been, at that moment.

"He will always need her. The people believe in her. And if he should someday decide he does not…Where will it leave me? It will leave me where I stood a few hours ago, once more, albeit at the mercy of a different man. The last one standing. Again."

He looked as if he thought what I was saying was only slightly saner than the President's message a few hours before.

"Till he takes you out, too? Or whatever he might choose?"

My voice dropped, then, and I looked straight into his eyes, as if doing do could somehow make him understand, for the first time, the oath I had sworn, the promise I had made, the things that I felt, deep inside.

"Until the bitter end, Jay. To whatever end, at whomever's hands. Forever. No matter what."

He reached out a hand, cradled one side of my face.

"I can't stop you from going, as much as I want to, but here, I'll keep you safe."

III

She was going to actually go. Diana would wrap herself in the Colonial flag once again and march, head high, into the monster's jaws. I felt her lean a little bit into my hand as it lay against her cheek. Her eyes showed the conflict to me that she could hide from the others. For some reason, she could let a little through, for me. I wanted to offer to pack up an assault rifle and join her. She would need a bodyguard, after all. I was the foreman on this ship, though. I had to protect my mechanics, and maybe everyone else, since Brad Stengler was acting like a complete jellyfish.

"Diana…" I said, feeling myself ease closer, until I felt her body against me. "I just want you to stay."

"I can't…you know I can't. I..."

Her forehead was so warm, and she tilted her chin up to me, lips parted to meet mine, then opening wider. My hand slid around her waist pulling her tight against me as our tongues gently touched.

Ever since the last of us jumped beyond the Red Line, I had wanted to survive. Now, for the first time since then, as I tasted her, I wanted to live.

I slid my hand under Diana's jacket, her white blouse, and slid her shirt up, my fingers finding the small of her back, the delicate indentation of her spine. She arched into me more, as my other hand slid her jacket from one shoulder, and she helped me free one arm, then the next, letting the coat drop to the floor.

Eager fingers clutched my shirt as her mouth slid to my neck, bit. Buttons popped loose and she ran her hands against my chest. I worked the front of her blouse out from her slacks, feeling a little more of her stomach as each button slid undone. She pushed back, toward the bed, as I shrugged out of my work shirt, and tossed hers away.

Her breath was hot in my ear.

"Jay…" she said, as she undid my belt buckle. "Don't let go of me. Don't…"

A whimper escaped her lips as my fingers ran up her spine, found her bra clasp. Her hand reached into my pants, worked earnestly in my lap. I dropped her on the bed, as she helped me out of my pants, then slid out of hers as I kicked my boots off.

Then, it was just us, no foreman, no Secretary--just a man and a woman consumed in one another, not caring that the stars looked upon us with indifference. The universe was here, and now, as her legs sinuously wrapped around my waist, and she clutched my face in both hands with strength I never knew she had, her mouth open and inviting.


	8. Chapter 8

When I knew she was asleep, I slid out from between the covers, groped around in the dark for my pistol. After nearly tripping over one of her shoes, I found it, returned to her side. She stirred, murmuring as she curled up against me, a little lump under the covers.

She had slid her panties back on, underneath one of my old college pyramid t-shirts, which her delicate body swam in. I smiled, listening to her slow breathing. I figured she was a pajamas kind of girl. I stretched the blanket a little more over my legs. She was a cover hog, too.

I fought the urge to doze for a while. I didn't tell her, but I think she knew this was a house divided. Hell, do the math and no thinking was necessary. 9 to 7 to go. Every one of the mechanics Down Below and the boys in their racks by the cargo hold were armed, just as I was. We were still on the brink, and I didn't know who could be trusted for sure. Stengler's indecision had to bother anyone with ears and eyes. If the man at the top didn't look strong, shit rolled downhill on the rest. Fear made people do crazy things, take actions upon themselves they never would, otherwise. I figured I could stay awake, until 0400, then maybe catch a nap before breakfast. As I had told Diana before, she was safe on the Lady.

At some point, I blinked, and suddenly the clock next to me read 0210. I dozed off. Shit. And there was annoying tapping noise, the creak of hinges--the hatch. The wheel was spinning, my eyes were finally wide as the door was kicked open. I didn't hesitate, loading a round into the chamber of the semi-automatic. I couldn't make out the silhouette against the dim backlight in the corridor, as I rose to my knees, felt Diana stir.

I frakked up. Caff died so she could live, and I risked everything to keep her safe. Now that would unravel here, because I dozed for maybe half an hour, leaving her absolutely helpless.

Without a word, I shoved her face first under me, rising to my knees. There was no way I could get out of this without taking a slug, as the shadowed figure raised the gun at his side. I was screwed, but I could at least follow through, give Diana a chance to live. He drew a bead on me. I felt Diana squirm under my weight, and I realized I would never know who betrayed me as the shot echoed off the walls.

After a breath, I realized that I was untouched. My would-be killer arched convulsively, losing control of his trigger finger, and my ears were hammered with more gunfire as he unloaded three rounds spastically into the ceiling, raining clumps of insulation down upon him. My heart thudded, seeing the man's legs sprawled out. I rose to my wobbly feet and told Diana to stay down.

I and found myself looking down at Mangan, who had already dropped his weapon, and clutched his right shoulder, blood oozing between his fingers. He grimaced, whitefaced up at me. And I looked down the hall, to see Nick, who fired the shot that downed him.

"Don't you frakkin' move, Mangan," he said, creeping slowly down the hall in his boxers and a tanktop, pistol still trained on him. Behind Nick was Marty, Toby, and Ed, weapons ready if the shooter had somehow missed.

I trained my gun on him, too. I was never sure of his loyalty, but I never thought he would resort to this. I never could think of Adam Mangan as a cold-blooded killer. To my left, Stengler and the rest of the flight crew loomed. I had never seen Jeffers look so fundamentally rattled as the stink of gunpowder and burned flesh hung in the air. Nick slowly bent down, to grab Mangan's weapon.

"Keep a bead on him, Krenzik. Old bastard's shifty," he told me. Given that I never saw this coming, Nick was pointing out the obvious. He carefully picked up the 9mm by its grip, then flipped it around, pointing the butt-end toward me.

"You're the boss, Krenzik, whaddya want to do with him?"

I took the weapon, looked behind me, seeing Diana still flat against the mattress.

"It's okay, baby. Come on," I beckoned. Before the last words were of my mouth, she was peeking around my shoulder, and, eyes wide as plates, she leaned against me, watching Mangan writhe, trying to hold in what he leaked all over his hand and the floor.

By then the entire crew was packed into that corridor, Nick beside Mangan to the right, Stengler on the left. The captain's lips were pursed, surveying the whole scene. The words stuck in my throat, and then I pictured Diana with eyes dead to the worlds, everything she ever was in a dark splatter on the wall behind her. I squatted down in front of my FTL tech, Jim Caffrey's best friend, our would-be killer.

"Why, Mangan?"

He just glared at me, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth. I turned to Diana.

"Take this, for a minute," I told her, handing her Mangan's pistol. She brushed stray hair out of her eyes, looked at me as though we didn't speak the same language. "It's okay, just hold this for a little while."

Diana took the weapon, cradling it as if she were holding a poisonous reptile. I turned back to Mangan snatched him up by his shirt collar so hard we almost butted heads.

"Tell… me… WHY?"

His mouth stretched into a feral smile that made a cold spike run up my spine.

"Why not, Krenzik? Everything's frakked. Jimmy's dead 'cause of her. She could bring Galactica down on us, and now 'cause of her we're runnin' off to Kobol to make that nut happy."

He looked over to Nick, the other mechanics, as I felt Diana clutch my arm with her free hand.

"Aint' too late, Nick. All of you," he said. "I'm on your side--"

Stengler squatted down next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Let him go Krenzik."

I stared at him in disbelief, then the captain repeated the order, and I complied, letting Mangan's head thunk against the bulkhead. I hoped it hurt.

"Now, Mr. Mangan," Stengler began. He was trembling, redfaced. "I guess you decided you knew what was best, eh? Enough to take matters into your own hands, on my ship. ON MY SHIP!"

The FTL tech turned to the knuckledraggers once more.

"Come on, we're armed, Nick, Toby… Marty…Ed--"

"No way, man," Nick said. "This is straight up bullshit. And so are you," he finished, spitting on him.

Pinklon sifted his way from behind Moore and Jeffers.

"Look," the nurse said. "While we figure out what we're going to do, we need to stop the bleeding--"

"Step back, Mr. Pinklon," Stengler told him. "I'll let you know if you're needed."

He turned back to Mangan.

"If you're familiar with interstellar Colonial law, then you know that in times of war, when military or government aid cannot be reasonably expected to arrive, things like this fall under captain's mass. Basically, I'm the law on this vessel. And you committed mutiny. There's only one punishment that fits this crime. For all our sakes, you will be spaced."

I couldn't believe I was hearing this. Sure, I wouldn't have shed a tear if Nick hit him in the head, but the threat was eliminated. I also found the irony of Galactica coming for him fitting justice.

Jeffers put a hand on the captain's shoulder.

"Now hold on Brad, lets just chain him up and put a guard on him for a while, figure out what we're going to do before we--"

"This is my ship, Mr. Jeffers. If I would have remembered that a long time ago, it wouldn't have come to this."

"As the XO it's my duty to point out--"

"It's also your duty to know when to step back, Milt." Then he turned back to our traitor.

"You leave me no choice. You're going out the fore airlock, Mangan. And may the Gods have mercy on your soul."

He was really going to do it. No shit. Adam Mangan would die--horribly. His lungs would strain for air, as his eyes froze, and the pain would be inconceivable before his heart exploded. Mangan just glared at him.

"You don't have the balls to--"

"Sorg," Stengler said. "Dempsey, pick his sorry ass up and let's get this over with."

"No problem, sir," Nick said. Toby took a deep breath, all color gone from his face as he grabbed one arm, and Nick the other. Mangan cried out as Sorg wrenched his wounded limb, trying to break free.

Diana shoved past me, in the middle of all of them. Her hair was a tangled mop, and she only wore panties and my old Libron Tech Pyramid shirt, but she crossed her arms, the shock in her eyes replaced with steel.

"Put him down," she told them.

"Miss Thalyka, what the hell are you doing," Stengler asked her.

"What I have the right to do, Captain. You speak of Colonial law, and the provisions that may be invoked 'when military or government aid cannot be reasonably expected to arrive'. But that is not the case, at the moment. We will be jumping to Kobol tomorrow, where the President herself awaits. Certainly, a reasonable period of time, for more assistance and advice, in a way, than would have been available even back on Caprica or Libron. And until then—and even discounting that—I am a member of the Cabinet. I am aboard this ship. As a result, that law does not apply. I speak for the government at the moment, Captain Stengler. And I forbid this action."

"Last time I checked, Madame Secretary, the Colonial government was dissolved." He gestured to Toby and Nick. "Let's go."

Without hesitation, he shoved past Diana, knocking her into me, and the throng moved forward, toward the right turn leading to the fore airlock.

Jeffers followed, pleading. "Brad! Come on! You don't have to do it!"

Stengler just ignored him as Mangan fought every step of the way, screaming himself hoarse.

"Cap'n," I said. "We can--"

Before I could finish, Diana elbowed her way back in front of him, barely keeping up, as we all turned the corner to the airlock.

"Last time I checked, Captain, according to that very same Colonial law you claim to be basing your actions now off of, both Adama's arrest of the President and Tigh's dissolution of the Quorum and declaration of martial law were illegal actions. Meaning that legally speaking, the government is not, in fact, dissolved. Making me just as legitimate as I was a week ago. And I am telling you now: This action is illegal and, if followed through, will be, given the circumstances, considered murder."

This was all too surreal. Mangan screaming his head off, leaving a trail of bloody drips behind him, and Marty--Marty pistol-whipping him when he wouldn't stop pushing off the walls with his feet. The entire time, Diana was breaking down Colonial law to the captain, who just ignored her and pressed on.

Jeffers sidled up next to me, as the airlock loomed closer.

"You need to reign her in, Krenzik. This isn't the time for lawyering-- right or wrong."

I didn't give a damn about the legalese. This was wrong any way it was sliced. We had other options, we had over 500 yards of chain and frakload of padlocks back in the shop. Jeffers was right though.

I took Diana aside as we were finally at the airlock, Mangan slumped and battered in Toby's and Nick's arms.

"Cap'n," I said. "The Astral Queen's a big prison we can dump him off--"

"We don't answer to Tom Zarek," he told me. Then he looked to Diana. "And legal or not legal doesn't matter, does it? Galactica's got the firepower, don't they?" He gestured to Ed.

"Open the door, Coursen. Ed complied, and the thick glass split at the push of a button. The single, dingy red strobe flashed as the klaxon sounded.

With that, court was adjourned in the Lady of Libron II legislative district, and Stengler turned his eyes to me.

"You have anything you'd like to say to him before we end this?"

This was really going to happen, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Jeffers, Moore, Pinklon, Mitchell, everyone else glowered behind me. It was wrong, but eye-for-eye was hard to dispute when everything was turned upside down. I couldn't convince him to stop it. No one could.

"Cap'n, he doesn't have to die! He--"

"That's okay, Krenzik," Mangan said, spitting a glob of blood at my feet. "You can tell me when I see you in Hell." Then his eyes fell upon Diana. "You too, bitch."

Diana fought her way back in front of me, veins standing out on her neck.

"Captain Stengler! I…ORDER YOU…TO STOP!"

"Shut up Miss Thalyka."

Stengler then turned to Nick and Toby. "Throw him in and shut the doors. I'll do the rest."

The two men threw Mangan in, where he collapsed in a heap. As the glass slid shut once more, he didn't scream, or pound on the glass. He just laid there, glaring at me as the Captain pulled the lever, just before he was sucked into the eternal black.


	9. Chapter 9

We didn't have much time at breakfast, so we basically snatched up our food and went to work. That was fine with me, since we didn't have to deal with being privy to a summary execution until later. I wasn't happy with the gungho attempt at normalcy, the way the death we were all linked to wedged itself in the silent spaces between every word we spoke.

Per the standing orders since martial law, all incoming shuttles docked aft, at the cargo hold, with all the maintenance team armed at the door. I'm sure Bertrand wouldn't be happy with this reception, considering protocol dictated that Jeffers meet him. Tactical reality dictated, though, that we did--locked and loaded.

Diana's hair was pulled back in its familiar bun. Her black suit, was rumpled a little more now, after repeated wear and sitting most of the night in a pile on my floor. As she joined all of us, we exchanged tight smiles that would never indicate what happened the night before.

After we milled back to our racks, we didn't speak. I just sat up in bed, pounded down a couple cigarettes, as she laid out company stationary on the table, and scribbled on several pages, presumably about what happened. After she skimmed her words over, she folded the pages sharply in half and left them there. Then Diana slid across the covers, kissed me on the temple, and lay her head to rest in my lap. I smoothed her hair until the alarm went off and the new day officially began.

She never said it, but I knew she would want to prosecute Stengler, whatever that meant with no real judicial system in place, government or no. I still didn't know how I felt about all of this. I couldn't afford to think about it much either. Bertrand's shuttle just achieved hard seal, and the doors spread open.

Betrand looked tanned, rested, and ready as ever, in a crisp gray suit, white shirt and a blue patterned tie. He didn't seem to care, or notice, that gun toting knuckledraggers were his welcoming committee. He came straight to me, shaking my hand vigorously.

"It's great to see you Krenzik," he said, surveying the whole gang. "All of you! I'm so glad you've made a stand against…"

He trailed off when his eyes fell upon Diana, face falling. "Oh… um, Madame Secretary! Thank the Gods you're safe!"

Diana Thalyka's eyes narrowed for an instant at Bertrand's noted lack of happiness, but the Colonial One veneer took over, and her lips spread into their required smile. She shook his hand.

"Likewise, councilman."

Bertrand turned back to all of us once more.

"As I was saying, I'm glad you chose to make a stand against William Adama's tyranny and are joining us going to Kobol. And please accept my condolences on the unfortunate passing of Jim Caffrey. He was a good man."

"So say we all," I responded, the rest following suit in unison.

"So, Krenzik, I know this is short notice, but I'd like to freshen up a bit. We may be jumping any time. If you could have someone show me to my accommodations?"

I nodded. I was about to break it to him that he was getting my old bunk. But before I could, he looked around, quizzically.

"Hey, aren't you missing someone? Wasn't there a tall, lean fellow, about my age in this crew?"

Instead of having Toby escort him to our rack room while I spun up the FTL, I settled the councilman in myself. I figured the best way to explain our unique wake up call was to do it in front of the still, with cups in hand. He could focus on liquid fire cruising down his esophagus instead of the bedlam we waded through.

"Spaced? Spaced. As in shot him out the airlock?"

I poured him a shot, and he slammed it right down.

After some hacking and coughing, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"You need to get your men up there and take control of this ship now! You outnumber him--"

"Look councilman, I don't think it was necessarily right either."

I surprised myself at my frankness with Bertrand. When I first met this captain of industry turned politician, I was so in awe of him, I could barely look him in the eye. Now, with him on my turf, without his wetbar and leather chairs, I was unable to imagine him in that light. I let our house brew slide down my throat, grimaced for a moment, and continued.

"But remember this: Mangan forced open the hatch to my quarters, and tried to murder Secretary Thalyka and myself."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"You and Miss Thalyka?"

"Yep."

"She was in your quarters?" He smiled widely then, patted me on the shoulders.

"That's what I said, Councilman, yeah."

"Way to go Krenzik! You play this right, it can only help us down the line."

It was then my turn to stare at him in shock. Most men would still be haranguing over the implications of spacing our FTL tech, and the captain's stability. Bertrand, though, wasn't most men. He possessed that fierce, brave shallowness that always managed to keep his eyes on the prize.

Milt Jeffers broke our dialogue over the intercom.

"All hands prepare to jump, T-minus ten minutes."

Bertrand's face still radiated satisfaction as he poured himself more of the house brew.

"Almost time, Krenzik! Adama will shit himself when he sees all of us break off."

I couldn't help but grin, too. We were about to make our stand. Through all the death and sorrow we were still here, and we were about to lay our eyes on the birthplace of all of us, of everything we ever knew--assuming Laura Roslin was still at least partly grounded in reality.

We all stood at the observation deck, transfixed on the perfect blue ball underneath us. Seas, continents, mountains, lush patches of green--this was where the Gods had lived with men and buried the secret of Earth.

My heart sank a little, wishing Caff would have been here to see it. Then I looked to Diana, next to me. Her eyes radiated the childlike wonder we all felt. I felt her hand touch mine and squeeze a little. Whatever came next, I knew then it could eventually turn out for the best. All the turmoil and strife that cut through and between us didn't matter as we orbited Kobol.

Then Bertrand had to ruin it all by talking.

"Just look at it won't you? It's just awe-inspiring! If we can get to the birthplace of the Gods, there's no telling what this fleet can do."

Before he could start rambling about the industrial base and infrastructure, the hatch spun open and Brad Stengler emerged, prompting everyone to turn away from Kobol, albeit grudgingly.

I'd never seen the captain down here before. Then again, I never saw him execute anyone either, so anything was possible. Besides, he had everyone from the cooks to the forklift drivers here. We were all together.

He stood straight, hands clasped behind his back.

"Everyone… I wanted you know that I understand that not all of you agree with my decision about Mangan. I hope you understand that I did what I did in the interests of protecting everyone aboard, and…" His eyes fell upon Diana then. "And I am willing to face any impending consequences for my actions. It is my responsibility and mine alone."

He paused, as if waiting for us to say something, but we all--even Bertrand--just stood in silence. Toby bowed his head a little, along with Marty.

The captain nodded. "Alright, then. I hate to tear all of you away from the view, but we need to do our post-jump checks. Secretary Thalyka and Mr. Bertrand will be receiving an escort in three hours to take them to the Astral Queen, per President Roslin's request. Currently they are waiting for a Lieutenant Thrace to return from Caprica with the Arrow of Apollo. If you miss it on the scanner, we'll notify everyone over the PA. That is all."

Brad Stengler's head hung a little as he returned to CiC. I didn't know if the hollow pit inside me would ever go away, watching Mangan flailing out the airlock, but I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the captain. The first time he tried to do the right thing was forever twisted into something horrible, which he would pay for the rest of his life--one way or another.

II

And I had thought I had nothing aboard Colonial One.

I really had nothing here. A couple of ration bars, some soap, and the papers and pens I had appropriated. Well, that and the t-shirt and make-up and hairbrush…But they weren't really mine, and their various real owners would not be distraught it I took them to the Astral Queen with me. So I gathered them up, and placed them on the table, to leave aboard. I left the soap also, after a bit of thought. It really wouldn't be needed….Not where we were going. The ration bars, papers, and pens I gathered up, moving back and forth as quickly as my legs could carry me, and formed into a neat pile in the center of the bed.

"I don't think Madame President will leave without you, Diana."

I realized with a start that in my frantic 'packing', I had nearly forgotten, if only for a few moments, that he was there. It was just I had never been the most religious of people. And I still thought the President was a nutcase. But this…this was real. Kobol was real.

"I know. I just want to be ready."

"Right...well, do you plan on washing on the Astral Queen? Or you could trade all that soap to one of the inmates for toilet privileges."

I gave him a quizzical look, wondering exactly why he was thinking I would be staying aboard the Astral Queen.

"I don't plan on being on the Astral Queen long enough to need much soap."

"Come to think of it, I can't quite understand why you're going at all."

I stopped for a moment and stared in shock. Was he completely clueless, all of a sudden?

"If I don't go to the Astral Queen, how the hell am I, assuming she gives me permission to, supposed to go down to Kobol?"

"You want to go down to Kobol?"

One of his eyebrows went up, and a look of extreme concern washed over his face. For my part, I resisted the urge to shake my head. He really MUST be clueless.

"Of COURSE I do."

"Look, I can understand it. Hell, I'd like to go too, but, I was thinking."

Usually, when someone said 'I've been thinking' in that kind of a tone, no good came of it.

"About what I mean, there's not much to think about. Whether she's nuts or not...that IS Kobol down there. The birthplace of humanity. The ancient home of the Gods. To set foot upon it..."

"That's right, but if the word's true. Toasters are down there, and, like you said, Roslin's nuts. You went to Sunday school, right?"

"Yeah, I did..."

"And, if--and that's a big if--Roslin is right, and the Arrow will show the way to Earth, then it must be true about paying in blood, like the scrolls say."

I stopped where I was, and just stood there, for a moment. Truth be told, I had forgotten about that part of the Scriptures, until now. But in the end…it changed nothing.

"Maybe it is. But they don't say everyone's blood. They don't say everyone who goes to Kobol will die."

"But somebody will die."

"Someone. Out of many, I would expect. You know Zarek will insist on going. And wherever he goes, some of his thugs go, too. Lieutenant Thrace is bringing the Arrow back. She'll want to go. The President is going. She probably has Billy with her, and if she could swing it, probably the Priest, Elosha, too. They grew...close...recently. And Gods only know who else."

My heart felt as if was being twisted in two, even admitting Billy might die there, or the President might die there.

"So, with any luck, it'll be one of them, right? Maybe they're all thinking the same thing. "

"With any luck, it will be one of Zarek's men, if anyone--though that does not leave this room. The others--the President, and Billy...Oh Gods no..."

"What about you?"

What about me, indeed. I hadn't quite figured that part out yet, myself, even.

"I hope not. Pray not. But life is risk, Jay...especially now. I have nearly died these last few months nearly more times than I have fingers to count upon. Should I forsake the opportunity to go to Kobol, just because of what may or may not be true, and what may or may not touch me, even if it is? And if it is, should I let them face whatever lies there alone?"

I was about to reach for the papers, to nervously straighten them for what must have been the 9th time, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my access to the bed and everything that lay upon it.

"You think Roslin ever thought about your safety? What would happen to any of you when she snuck behind Adama's back?"

Oh hell. Not THIS.

"Dammit, it doesn't MATTER if she ever thought about our safety! There's more at stake here than that! And more people than just her going down there! And yes, I do think she did. I KNOW she did. Not then, perhaps. But on Colonial One...when they boarded us..."

I could hear my voice crack, and every muscle in my body clench, at the memory of the stand off, and it was several seconds before I spoke again.

"...face off, a row of guns on both sides...Colonel Tigh was getting anxious. Who knew what he would have done. And then Captain Adama swung his weapon on Colonel Tigh...and all hell broke loose. I thought I was going to die, then. We all thought we were going to die. And she stepped out into the middle of it all. Told them to put their guns down. And she said...she would not have bloodshed, on Colonial One. Not us...and not them. And she made them stand down, all of them...and let them take her away."

"Well, she wasn't the grand prophet then, was she? She's crazy, and who knows what she'll do in the name of scripture?"

I had no idea. Unlike he seemed to be thinking, however, I WAS certain she was not about to indiscrimiantly throw us all to the proverbial wolves. And he still had not spoken to my other two concerns and points.

"And the others? Should I let them go alone? And the things that might await us down there--Should I disregard them"

I shook my head, in that way people often do when they wish to indicate that they are sorry, but a subject is not open for debate, and gave him a small smile.

"I will request to accompany her to Kobol. If the chance were yours...and if it were your friends and colleagues, set to venture upon the planet of the Gods, into great potential wonders, and great potential dangers...You could not let them go without you, either. I am certain of it."

He returned my smile, though his was of the sad sort, and accompanied almost immediately thereafter by a slight bowing of his head. Then, he took a few steps towards me, and slid his arms around my waist.

"You're lucky I'm too tired to come up with a good response to that. In those terms, I can see what you mean."

III

I decided we should greet the raptor coming for Bertrand and Diana with assault rifles. Zarek's thugs didn't mess around, if their little hostage drama aboard the Astral Queen was any indicator. So far, Zarek held all the cards with the President and the Quorum aboard his ship. Also, Bertrand confided to me that he was part of Phelan's distribution network now, albeit a small part.

"Roslin's out of her godsdamned mind," he said, as we sat around the break room Down Below, loading clips with rounds and slamming them into our weapons. "And Zarek knows it. He wouldn't mind making a move for an invisible freighter like this one. Hell, the only reason I'm going is that my name will be mud down the line if I don't."

Diana's heels clicked with authority as she walked into the rack room, a pillowcase filled with her few belongings dangling from one hand looking absurd in conjunction with her refined appearance. She didn't seem to care, carrying it as though it were a designer handbag.

"Mr. Jeffers wanted me to tell you all that he's in the cargo hold waiting for you. The raptor is coming in for hard seal, he said."

I nodded. "Whatever you do," I told her, before remembering to include Bertrand. "Make sure you stay behind us. We've had enough death on this tub for a while."

After a ride up the freight elevator, Milt Jeffers stood next to me with his sidearmn. Directly behind us stood Diana and Bertrand. Flanking us, in a semi-circle around the airlock, were the mechanics, plus Briar, Bobby and Dan. I kept us just far enough apart so we didn't inadvertently shoot one another, at least I hoped it would turn out that way if things got ugly. The documentation with the guns didn't include tactics.

The deep rumble and boom of steel on steel signified the raptor achieved hard seal.

"Remember," Jeffers said. "Do not open fire on anyone until you give them the chance to drop their weapons. We're not storming the Gideon, here."

I looked over to Nick, Toby, and the others. Most of their faces were shiny with sweat, as was mine now. None of us had ever really killed someone. Well, except maybe for Nick and Toby, who threw Mangan into the airlock. Hell, Nick was the only guy who even shot someone--and that was last night.

The red light on the airlock control panel switched to green, indicating hard seal, and adequate pressure within the airlock chamber. Up above, Stengler probably gave our visitors permission to board.

"Dempsey," Jeffers said, nodding to Toby, who walked up to the gate, and pushed the button that slid the inside glass open. Never taking his eyes off the raptor's still-shut hatch, he returned to our concave front line.

Hydraulic lines hissed as the ship's door opened as if it were a lazy beast's mouth. I could hear Ed's uneven breathing next to me over my pounding heart. I first thing I saw was a man in Fleet camos, thick dark hair, around Diana's height, with several days worth of beard on his face. He was Lee Adama, the Commander's rogue son. On either side of him, were two thugs--white guys, and they were packing automatics a lot like ours. Jeffers looked to me, in a silent order to step up with him.

We took two steps forward and I saw another figure behind Adama and the two goons--Tom Zarek, in a leather overcoat. These were two guys I never expected to be on the same page, ever, let alone in a triumvirate with the President. My knees trembled as I saw the two thugs raise the barrels on their weapons, and take a first step out of the raptor.

"Hold up," Jeffers ordered them. "No weapons aboard the Lady of Libron II. Captain's orders--"

"We're security," Zarek's man on the left said. "For the Councilman and the President. We--"

"Do not take one step further or--"

Captain Adama stepped in line with them, gestured for them to lower their guns, but neither complied, as Zarek strode out behind them.

Jeffers nodded to me, and I raised my rifle's butt to my shoulder and everyone else followed suit, and closed in our semi-circle, but they still kept moving.

"Drop it!" My shouts echoed, and it didn't sound like me. I had never pointed a gun at anyone before, except as I loomed over Mangan the night before. Hell, my stomach twisted at the burnt-flesh smell in the air at the time. Now, I had to be ready to kill, and I had no idea what would happen after that.

"We…can't… do that!"

"DROP IT NOW! THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING! DROP IT!"

Words came out of Adama's mouth, but I couldn't hear them for the pounding in my ears. Zarek stood by, watchful, seemingly unsure if he should call off his dogs. I couldn't blame him. People either loved or hated the guy, anymore, and we were definitely on the hate side of the room.

"DROP IT!"

Just then, as I felt the rational fabric that held everything together fray and split, another figure emerged from the raptor. She was frail, and very thin, a shawl draped over her bony shoulders. Laura Roslin. The President took crisp authoritative strides down the ramp, approaching as if we were all just pointing flowers at one another. One of Zarek's goon squad and I stood only two meters, maybe less, from one other, staring down one another's rifle barrels. With plenty of firepower behind me, he would be dead as soon as he pulled the trigger. The rub was, so would I.

"M-Madame president--" Lee Adama began, but was silenced by a wave of her hand, as she focused on me, Jeffers, and Zarek's man.

"Yes. Drop them," she said, every syllable radiating that same quiet authority that I remembered on Colonial One. She looked past Jeffers and I to the crew. "All of you."

"Madame President, may I suggest that you order these men to stand down before your guards do," Adama asked, his eyes scanning each and every one of us.

"Captain Adama. It is clear to me that no one here is going to lower their weapons of their own accord."

She made a point to meet the eyes of every man in the room. I hoped she didn't notice my quivering legs-- I was on the verge of pissing myself.

Maintaining her unwavering authority she continued. "So let me make it very simple for all of you. On the count of three, anyone holding a weapon WILL lower it."

Jeffers looked to me, nodded, then did the same to the rest of us behind him.

"One," she began, not raising her voice, even though her words filled the hold. "Two… three."

I let out a deep breath, lowered my rifle, still glaring at the man across from me, and heard everyone else do the same.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Now, where is Councilman Bertrand?"

Before I could turn to beckon him, Jasper Bertrand rushed forward, as if all his wildest dreams came true. His face was shiny with perspiration.

"Madame President," he exclaimed, as he barreled past me. "Thank the Gods you're alive!" Then, his eyes fell on Zarek, and he immediately regained his composure.

"Hello…Tom."

Zarek nodded in return. "Jasper."

I heard Diana ease behind, then around me and blankly regard Laura Roslin, hands clasped in front of her.

"Madame President…"

Roslin's eyes grew wide, and she straightened at the sight of her Secretary in exile.

"Diana?" The two women blankly regarded one another, although I saw a hint of a smile play at the corners of the President's mouth.

"It's a long story," Diana replied, dropping fifty megatons of political understatement.

Roslin then turned to Zarek and Bertrand who radiated the most civilized hatred I had ever seen.

"Wait for me a moment please, Councilmen."

Then she looked back to Diana again. "Walk with me."

I started to follow, as did Lee Adama, and Roslin looked over her shoulder at the captain.

"It's alright, Captain Adama," the President said. "I hardly think I am about to be assassinated by a member of my own Cabinet."

At that moment, Diana's eyes locked on mine.

"I'll be fine, Jay," she told me. Adama and I exchanged uneasy glances and backed off, letting the two most powerful people in what was left of our government confer, alone.

IV

She led me as far away from the crowd as we could get without straying out of sight. I was sure she felt everyone's eyes on her back at that moment, as I did on mine. I thought she would ask me to elaborate on everything, but she surprised me.

"The man with you. He is one of the men who came aboard once to fix our engines."

I nodded.

"Yes, Madame President. And with you—Captain Adama."

"Yes."

She looked thoughtful again for a moment, but said nothing, so I finally spoke. I felt odd saying this, and hoped she would not resent it, but I knew I could not rest—nor relieve the tight knot I felt in my stomach at the moment—until I knew the answer.

"Madame President? Where is Billy?"

A dark shadow suddenly passed over her face.

"He…did not come."

The knot in my stomach clamped down even harder, and I knew my face gave away everything, as much as I tried to control my expression.

"Is…he…"

I couldn't finish my words, but I did not have to. I felt every muscle in my body loosen, as she slowly shook her head.

"He's fine."

I waited through a few more moments, then spoke again.

"Madame President. When you go down to Kobol—"

She shook her head again.

"No."

I knew better than go 'But, why?" to the President of the Colonies, even if I WAS a Cabinet member these days. So I waited, for whatever she might say next, whatever reasoning she might reveal. She turned away from me briefly, and when she turned back, and put a hand on my arm, turning (and gently guiding me to do so as well), until we were both at angles that accorded us a view of everyone else.

"Diana. You will not accompany me to Kobol. And you will not accompany us to the Astral Queen."

This time, to my everlasting shame, the 'but' escaped my lips and was spoken aloud, before I could restrain it.

"But—"

She didn't look angry at the interruption, but instead very serious, as serious as during so many other crises--but never looking quite so alone, quite so sad. And for two people off of Colonial One, that was saying something.

"One third of the fleet made the jump. A third that does not include any defensive capabilities to speak of, nor anyone—"

Here, her voice wavered for just an instant, though so slight I doubt anyone but those who hadn't spent the last few months living on top of her day and night (as I had) would have noticed—No doubt thinking of whatever it was that had prevented Billy from joining her here.

"—from Colonial One. Other than myself. And you."

She paused for a few more moments, and when she spoke, her voice was even lower, and even more serious, than before, and her eyes were locked directly with mine.

"Do you understand?"

Do you understand, indeed. Because what she was saying could not risk being said, if there was a chance the others—especially Zarek and Bertrand, I suspected—might hear. But I understood only all too well—the things she mentioned before hand, the things she specifically pointed out. She knew the Kobol prophecies. Hell, she had wrapped herself in them, for frak's sake. Do you understand. Do you understand that this is all there is, that no more will be joining us, that this is all there will ever be, that we will not be reuniting with the others. Do you understand that there are only two members of the Executive Branch left alive, left free, left in this portion of the fleet. Do you understand that if something happens on Kobol…the order of succession dictates that the Presidency will fall to you?

Ridiculous. If she came to grief on Kobol, they would not follow me. Not all of them, anyways. They followed her, so many of them, because they believed she would lead them to salvation, lead them to Earth. I didn't have a reputation as a religious leader and messiah. If something happened to her…Everything would shatter.

I knew that…and she had to know that as well, on some level. But this was chaos, uncertainty, more than ever before. And in such times….procedure, tradition, the illusion of control…that meant everything. Neither of us would admit out loud her directives to me would mean little, lawful though they might be, based in the Articles though they might be. I doubted she would even admit it silently to herself…her knowledge of it was most likely buried deep in her subconscious. But whatever I might know…and whatever she might know deep down….that did not change this moment. Because…this was all we had. All we had left. And if we didn't have this…

"Yes, Madame President."

We stood there together for a few more moments, her hand still on my arm where she had laid it a few minutes before. Finally, she withdrew it, and turned to walk back towards the others. I followed, and I realized, even if only in my own imagination. My steps seemed a little heavier on the deck, now, then they had been just hours before. Fitting, because whatever weight had been upon my shoulders after the bombs fell, the world ended, and I was sworn in—and which was increased after the Quorum was dissolved and the fleet went mad—felt heavier now than it ever had before.

V

As Diana walked with the President, Apollo looked over to me, rolled his eyes, as our soundtrack waiting this out was Zarek and Bertrand mimicking civility.

"Well…of course Tom. I understand, after all, the Astral Queen is your ship, and it's your prerogative if you want to go down to the planet's surface. I'm sure you'll be glad to…tell us all about it."

Zarek grinned with minimal effort. "Don't take it personally, Jasper. Really, this was arranged before we even knew you or any of the other Councilmen were joining us…"

Finally, the women returned. I steeled myself to say my goodbyes. I didn't want to let Diana out of my sight. So much had to fall in place for her to even be alive, and my universe was a better place with her in it.

"Diana, be careful--"

She briefly squeezed my hand, grinning sadly.

"I'm not going," was all she said.

Roslin headed straight for the raptor, not looking back as Zarek and Jasper Bertrand continued their cordial exercise in fuming hatred. Finally, she turned around, her gaze washing over all of us, I noticed she lingered on me for an extra breath.

"Thank you all, Gentlemen." She looked over to Zarek and Bertrand, who finally noticed she wanted to leave. "Councilmen, it's time."

She ducked into the raptor, the councilmen following in silence. Lee Adama nodded toward me, and followed, with Zarek's goon squad. The hatch sealed behind them, and Jeffers gave the cue for Toby to shut the airlock. Within a minute, their ship roared to life, detached, and was gone.

We put up our rifles in the firearms locker (courtesy of Phelan) near Briar's office, and everyone gradually filed off to where they needed or wanted to be, leaving Diana and I sitting on the observation deck. We sat for a time, in silence, as Kobol rolled gently by.

Diana's shoulders slumped a little, and her gaze was far away. She still looked a little sad, pensive after telling me she was staying. Who could blame her? I knew there was no way in hell I was getting down there, but who wouldn't be sad they couldn't place their feet upon the birthplace of the Gods.

"Hey," I told her, reaching over and gently squeezing her left hand. She looked up, gave a slight grin, pressed back. "I know I wasn't crazy about the idea… but I'm sorry you couldn't get down there."

"I'm not... not anymore. I was too caught up in it all. So much so that I forgot certain things."

"Like what?"

Diana's long neck craned behind us, and her eyes smoothly and habitually scanned the long aisles of the hold. She turned back to me. Her thumb gently smoothed back and forth over mine.

"Billy didn't make the jump. And Colonial One couldn't make the jump. And I forgot what that meant."

I raised an eyebrow. "I don't follow."

This time, it was her turn to look a little confused.

"Jay, as screwed up as things are some things stay the same. One of those things is that the Order of Succession to the Presidency does not include the Quorum of Twelve. There are only two people in this section of the fleet legally allowed to hold the position, through that chain. And one of them is already in the position. "

She took a deep breath, and for a moment, squeezed my hand a little tighter.

"The only other one...is me," she said, the words coming as if she couldn't believe them herself.

I couldn't help but smile a little. Even though not much good had gotten us to this point, I had to admit, I was proud of her. She had endured to so much, and now, with what I knew now to be a customary grace under pressure, she was telling me that Diana Thalyka was technically the Vice President of the Twelve Colonies.

"It's not every day we have the--hopefully--interim VP of the Colonies aboard the Lady," I replied.

"It had better be interim. They follow her for now. They would not follow me in her stead. And even if she returns from Kobol, this will only last so long. Because as much as I could not say it then, your men were right. We're alive now. But without defenses against the Cylons, we won't last long enough to reach Earth, even if it's real. And without the others... What are we, anymore? So little was left, even before this."

My men. MY men. I thought of how we just silently parted ways, after the President's raptor disembarked. Mangan hung over us, still. Maybe he always would. As she said, so little was left, even before. They were my guys, and somehow, I had to figure out a way to at least begin the process of moving on. I slid my hand out from over hers, and eased my arm around Diana, and she leaned into me easily.

"Well… I know that right now, for the first time in…I don't know. For the first time I feel like we're doing something that's going to ultimately work."

"I hope so." Her eyes returned to the immense window, to Kobol. "It will."

I sighed, joining her in repose. For the first time, I looked into the void and saw possibilities instead of cold indifference in the stars. We were moving on, whatever happened, next. All everyone did was react, hope and pray our worst fears didn't come to pass, that things would somehow get better. It may have been the wrong way to get the right thing done, but Roslin was doing it. Now, I had to proactively try to get all of us Down Below to look each other in the eye again, and maybe not always see Adam Mangan.

"Diana, there's something I gotta do."

She turned to me, her gray eyes wide, serious.

"Then you should go do it," she said. It was as if she knew what I was thinking. Or maybe it was because she knew a thing or two about pressure.

"I'll see you later."

I got up, my steps feeling heavy, but right as I headed for our rack room. I didn't know how the gang would react, but for the first time, since Caff died, I felt good doing something besides touching Diana.

VI

I watched as he walked away. Though I had not asked for what reason, I knew he was going to attend to his men. And for the first time since he had become foreman, I knew with certainty that he would succeed.

I wished I could say the same about the rest of us. Despite my words before, I was far from certain we would succeed. And if something should go wrong on Kobol, and she died, then I was positive we would not. The people would not follow me. And the Quorum certainly would not—they barely followed her, in fact. Everything had hung by a thread, since the bombs fell. But now, it all hung by a single strand. The slightest action, the slightest change, the slightest event could break us now, and shatter it all. And there was nothing I could do about it, once again. Nothing but wait. And pray.

I remembered seeing a statue of Zeus once, on the desk of one of the officials my father interviewed, when I was young. Leaders, leadership, democracy, civil service, the people, the Colonies themselves, and the protection of such things. He would be the one to direct such things to. Unlike the more devout, however, I had never owned any statues, of Zeus or any of the others, for that matter. So I just took a deep breath, and centered my eyes once again on Kobol. What better focus could there be, after all, then the place where it had all began?

"Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer. Protect the President, and the others on the surface of Kobol, your ancient home. Please, also protect my people…both here, and with the other fleet."

This was the place where it had all begun. I could only hope, now, that it would not be the place where it all ended, as well.

VII

Ed Coursen was the first one I saw in the machine shop, cleaning his crescent wrenches with a wet rag by the sink. I told him to spread the word to the others about our meeting in the break room. Then I went to my bunk, my old locker--which had yet to be cleaned out. Marty shambled by in his robe and flipflops, just out of the shower. I gave him the word, too.

Near the bottom, wrapped in purple velvet, sat my obsidian Hephaestus figurine. Mom gave it to me, as my Dad glowered before I took my first shuttle up to the company's orbiting shipyard. Hephaestus was the primary God worshipped on Libron, a planet where heavy industry was the only thing going for it. He was the patron of mechanics, artisans, anyone who worked with his or her hands. This figurine stood about 15 centimeters in height, with the God standing in all his hard-muscled divine glory, hammer raised above an anvil. It was said he was the son of Zeus and Hera, and the estranged husband of Athena--depending upon which interpretation of the Scrolls a person believed. I hadn't unwrapped this thing in years. Dust nestled in between the contours and hard lines chiseled into the black stone.

In a few minutes, everyone was in the break room, around the table. I stood at its head, the figurine before me sitting on its velvet wrap. Toby, Ed, Nick, Marty--they all looked up at me, and I felt the same weight of what we had seen and done the night before. The only way I knew to begin was to simply do it. I pulled up a chair and sat down with them.

"I don't know what to…" I shrugged, shook my head, and they just sat. Nick folded his arms, head tilting quizzically. I didn't believe we were haunted by his spectre, but Mangan was among all of us, with that hard glare in his eyes, before he was sucked out into the void. Nick shot him, saved my life. Then he eagerly grabbed an arm. Toby followed orders, as if he had to will his body to clutch Mangan's other arm. Before Ed pushed the button, opening the double doors, Marty slammed the butt of his weapon into my would-be murderer's face. I didn't know what good this would do, but I needed to get rid of Mangan. Maybe this would be a good start.

"We all… we all went to Sunday School, right?" They all mumbled in assent. "So we all know that the Scrolls say every soul deserves a prayer, now and again, right? You don't have to do it, if you don't want to."

"Hey man, you an' her were the ones he was offing," Toby said. "If you want to, what the hell? I'll do it."

He looked behind him, to the other three, who didn't move. I tried to think of something else to say, words Caff would have uttered, to leave us with some semblance of feeling better. Nothing came, so I just cleared my throat and began.

"Lords of Kobol, hear our prayer, for the soul of Adam Mangan. We ask that his fate, whatever it is, be just and in the light of your almighty mercy. We ask, on behalf of Hephaestus, so say we all."

"So say we all," my men repeated.

"Okay," I told them, wrapping my figurine up again. "That's all I got. Schedule's clear until morning. When Lieutenant Thrace returns with the Arrow, Up Top will send the word. See you at breakfast.

They all said their good-nights, shambling off, except Nick, who sat, arms still folded, glaring at me.

I felt his eyes burn into me, but chose to let him speak first. An eternity of silence hung as he obviously waited for me to finish bundling up my totem.

"I don't like you, Krenzik. Never did."

I couldn't help but smile. He waited all this time to say that?

"What else is new?"

"I don't like you, but you're the boss. I just gotta do my job--and hold up my end."

"Right."

He laughed then. It had a bitter, barbed wire texture.

"Frak. I was aiming for his godsdamned head. I saw him grab his holster, and head up the ladder. I called over to him, right? And he said I was right, that shit was gettin' outta hand. He was gonna fix it. I let him go, then made the call to the Cap'n's quarters. He sounded still asleep, right? So I went up, too. Saw him after he jimmied open your door…"

He bowed his head, ran meaty fingers through his hair. "I don't regret spacin' him."

"Hey, man. If you would've made the head shot, I wouldn't have any problem. We… just didn't have to send him out the airlock, you know?"

He nodded. "Like said, Krenzik. You're the boss. And I don't gotta like it. I just gotta do it. We're stuck on this tub with each other, right?"

"Yeah. We got a decent thing going here, all things considered. I want us to keep it."

Without another word, Nick left. A shadow that lingered over me seemed to recede, let in a little warmth. I didn't know what would come next, but at least we could look one another in the eye again.

Diana waited for me, in my quarters. Clothes fell in little piles across the room, and, as she guided me inside her, there was nothing lingered except our own heat. I thought of sliding out from under her again, to feel along the floor and keep my sidearm close, but I knew I wouldn't need it. Not that night.

VIII

By the time I woke, he was gone, no doubt to start the day's work. I ran my hand along what had been his side of the bed—it was already cold. I paused, lifting up my hand and staring at it, strangely.

I hadn't thought I would ever have this chance, these feelings, again--love, companionship, the touch of another, beyond a handshake in the course of business. Humanity. I had thought they—and it—were lost to me forever—precluded by my position, the inability of meeting anyone 'off the clock', the inability of getting time off Colonial One and off the job for anything to ever develop.

When the Cylons had bombed Caprica, I had lost my family, my friends, everything I had ever known. And yet, at the same time, I had found a strength inside of me I had never believed I had, a resolve and purpose far beyond even that I had held before—and a level of responsibility and rank I had not planned to hold for decades, and had before only hoped to someday achieve. And now, when the remnants of humanity had all but shattered, leaving us mere shadows of what we had been before—mere whispers, even, of what had initially been left after the bombs fell—now, I had found what I had thought would be forever denied me.

What was this place we found ourselves in the condition of the human race? What was this place, that only when everything else fell silent could we find what lay deep inside?

I could only hope to keep it, now. The road ahead was even more clouded and uncertain than it had ever been before, and each possible end to this current dilemma would bring with it trials and challenges to what had developed here. If only—

"Cylon Incoming! Cylon Incoming!"

The announcement blared from the speakers overhead, and I froze where I was (inasmuch as I had been moving much in the first place). Cylons.

We were defenseless here. All of us. Even the so-called "armed" ships wouldn't stand a chance against the Cylons.

"Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer…."

Before I could say anything else, the system came to life again.

"Civilian vessels, civilian vessels! This is Starbuck! Do you read? Do you read? Say again, this is Starbuck. Is anybody getting this? Hello? Hello?"

Relief washed over me for the 9 millionth time, since this saga had begun. The Raider. Of course. She had left in a Cylon vessel. Not surprising, if one stopped to think, that she would return in one as well. It wasn't the Cylons. It was the last of our hope…returning to us at last, perhaps, in my wildest dreams, to provide us with a new hope.

I could, given the circumstances, think of only one way to finish my interrupted prayer.

"….Thank you."

EPILOGUE

William Adama, Tom Zarek, and Laura Roslin were sitting in a raptor. No, this wasn't the beginning of a joke. I saw Diana's face light up, as the President told her, into Mitchell's headset, everything she saw in the ruins on Kobol, within the ruins of the very real Temple of Athena. There was an Earth, and we now knew how to get there.

We returned to the fleet, after giving the beginning of everything one last glance. It was beautiful, and I would have loved to set foot on Kobol. I knew, like everyone else, that we could never stay, as basestars lurked in the vacuum, waiting for their chance to finish the job. Now, though, I felt like we were running toward something better, instead of fleeing from certain death.

Finally, as we lay in bed, where we belonged, nestled among the rest of the fleet, with Galactica leading the way, Diana described to me what Roslin told her.

"She didn't give me the exact location. That's classified—beyond me, even—but, she said it was beautiful…"

I tried to picture the tall, green grass, the clear sky with the twinkling starlight. The monoliths all held the ancient names and sigils of the Twelve Tribes: Libra, Capricorn, Aquarius, Leo, all of them. High above was a nebula. It was a long way from here, but beyond that was our new home. Earth.

The danger was still just as palpable, but at the end was our reward, for all those before us, and for the rest of the human race that would carry on after we were gone. We had a future.

TO BE CONTINUED IN "KRENZIK'S WAR II"


End file.
